Prologue

Louise’s eyes welled with moisture as an animal cry shook her house, and she found herself shivering as it died away.  She shivered in a very different way when she wiped at one eye and her fingertips came away crimson with blood.

It’s the hallucinations, she told herself.  She winced and held a hand to her lower back as she rose to a standing position, blinking the blood out of her eyes.  Has to be.

Again, the cry echoed through the town of Kennet, not a dog, not a wolf, nor coyote.  It echoed as though it came from far away, bouncing off of the nearby mountains, but it had a volume better suiting something just outside of Louise’s home.

The doctors said I might see or hear things, she reminded herself.  When the body’s in rough enough shape, the brain starts to go too.

It was a strange mix of emotions, feeling her heart race at the same time she felt at peace.  She had been bracing herself for this since months ago.

She hobbled over to her kitchen, found her pills, and checked that the compartmentalized box with sections for each day of the week was in order.  She hadn’t taken too many or done something wrong.

Disappointing.  It would have been nice to have a simple, tidy explanation.

Thirty-five and having to double check my medications in the same way a woman twice my age might.  

Her thoughts were disturbed by bloody tears dripping down onto the plastic pill separator and her kitchen counter.  She tore off a paper towel from the roll and wiped it, and saw the blood streak, bleeding into the paper.

Too real.  She would have expected things to add up less if this was fake, for the paper towel to wipe away the blood and then to have nothing on it, or for it to turn into something else.  The only weirdness was that her eyes didn’t really sting enough.  Shouldn’t blood in the eyes sting?

It was disconcerting, doubts bouncing around in her head at the same time she was calm and prepared for the worst.  She had been warned about these hallucinations.  Until tonight, they had been limited to fleeting shadows resembling shadowy monkeys or rodents in the corner of her vision, each of them darting away before she could meet them with her eyes.

Her cigarettes were by her pills.  A sticky note was stuck to the carton, a note to herself scrawled on it:

One a night!

Might as well, while I’m up, she thought, and her thoughts had a tremble to them in the same way her voice might, if she were to try to speak.  Feeling that tremble, she had to fight for a moment to keep the strangeness in her head divorced from her heart and her feelings.

She tapped the carton against the counter until a cigarette slid through the opening, placed the carton beneath the plastic pill separator, and grabbed her lighter.

She lit her cigarette with one hand while using the other to let herself out onto her front porch.  She had to twist a bit to keep the wind from outside from extinguishing her lighter, and she felt a pain in her side like she’d been stabbed.  The first time she had felt pain like that, it had dropped her to her knees.  Now it was everyday.

The air was chilly and the wind blew directly in her face, forcing her to close her eyes.  When she opened them again, she saw that the moon was bleeding.

The smoke from her first puff of her cigarette and the fog of her frozen breath mingled in the night air.  The moon hung heavy in the sky, and blood welled out along the edges where it met the sky, heaviest toward the bottom, with trickles periodically running down the face of it, changing the light it reflected to a dull red.  A thin trickle stabbed down to earth from the bottom-most portion of the moon.

Louise’s eyes traced the path of that trickle, and she saw a beast atop one of the forested hills.  It was canid, red furred, and barely visible in the dark, against the backdrop of the mountain behind it.  It was tall enough and massive enough that its furred belly traced the treetops.  The blood from the moon met the creature’s head, ran between and around its pale eyes, down a throat with a heavy fur ruff, and down long, thin legs, out of sight.

Its back was hunched, its tail hanging straight down.   That cry earlier-

Almost as if it were completing the thought for her, it raised its head, and it howled.  It was so far away, but the mournful cry was still loud enough it made her worry the windows would rattle or make something break.

That was the same noise as before.  As it carried on, Louise’s eyes welled with moisture once more, with blood instead of tears.  Sympathy made her heart ache, while other pains erupted across her body.  That spot at her lower back, off to one side, was the worst, a pain that had become too familiar in the last year.

Joints ached, her head pounded, and she found she couldn’t breathe or connect her thoughts.

When the pain subsided, Louise found herself doubled over.  Bloody tears joined the still-burning cigarette on her front porch.  Grabbing the railing at the boundary of her porch to steady herself, she scuffed the cigarette out with the toe of her boot, smearing the drips of blood around in the process.

The thing was still out there.  Each step it took seemed to be an effort.  It had moved, and now it slowly made its way into the town.  The moon remained directly above it.

Just a hallucination, she thought.  I shouldn’t change what I’m doing or get anxious because of it.  The doctors warned me.  

Driven by impulse, she stepped off her front porch, and climbed into her car, wincing at the pain in her midsection.  This wouldn’t be the first time she hadn’t listened to her doctors.

She pulled onto the lonely mountain road that saw perhaps one car an hour, each property separated by a few minutes of driving.

She chased the colossal beast, using the bleeding moon to keep track of it when the tall pine trees or the dips in the road put the great beast out of sight.  For long stretches of her trip down the isolated road, only her headlights provided any illumination.  For the other stretches, the fact the moon was tinted red cast the entire city in crimson hues.

It was eight in the evening, which meant most of the buildings in Kennet were closed.  Below the mountain road, shops were dark, and half the lights across the main road through town were off.  The gas station was the first lit building she came across, garish and bright in the dark.  It was the first thing she’d seen since she’d stepped out onto her porch that had light strong enough to cut through the dull red glow of the bleeding moon above.  There, she caught up with the beast, a creature so tall that the roof of the car blocked her view of everything above the bends in its long, thin legs.  The blood that ran down the legs seemed to disappear into the darkness of the fur that grew darker lower down, to claws that were as black as anything she’d ever seen.

Just outside the gas station, lit by the fluorescent lights from inside and the neon red Mushie sign, teenagers were gathered around a car.  They didn’t seem to care or notice as the beast’s leg touched ground in the middle of the empty road, foot shifting and clawed toes parting as the leg took more of the creature’s weight, then picked up again, almost disappearing in the midst of the dark sky.  Their attention was consumed by the snacks they were parceling out between them.

She couldn’t put a name to the children, but she was pretty sure she could name the families one or two of them came from.  Kennet was that sort of town.  Five thousand residents, two schools, two gas stations, and a theater that closed for the summer months because they didn’t get enough customers.

She slowed as she caught up with the creature.  This close to it, everything about the world seemed to have a red tint, even the light from her headlights.  Fascination overrode her everyday pain.

She could hear it now.  The huffing breaths, the low sounds it made in its throat.  Even with windows up and a windshield in the way, that throat higher above her than any treetop.

All of this felt like a dream.

It’s a hallucination, Louise, she told herself, as she leaned into her steering wheel, craning her head to look up through the windshield.  Frustrated, she leaned back, steered to the side of the road, and shifted the car to park.  She paused to look in the rear-view mirror, and saw her face, her eyes wide, blood running thick from the lower eyelids to her chin.  Some of the blood stained her shirt collar.

She deliberated her next actions.  She wasn’t wearing a winter jacket, because it hadn’t occurred to her in the moments between when she’d stepped off her porch and when she had started up her car.  She was wearing boots, but that was because it was hell to keep her feet warm these days, more hell to bend down to pull the boots off.  Endless health problems, and the boots offered better stability than her feet did.  She took them off for bed and put them on after showering and drying her feet.  That was it.

Underdressed for the weather as she was, she climbed out of the car, grunting at the pain in her back, shut and locked the door, and then followed the great beast on foot, leaning heavily into the railing that ran beside a set of concrete stairs.  The stairs connected the straighter parts of the winding mountain road, so people in the town who wanted to travel up to the gas station on foot didn’t have to zig-zag their way up the lonely road.  The fact the gas station was at the top would be why there was so much litter on either side of the staircase, including a half-full plastic bottle standing up on a stair that she nearly tripped over on her way down.  She stopped herself mid-fall by catching the railing with both hands.

Embarrassing.  It felt like yesterday that she had been one of those teenagers outside the gas station.  Now she was a wreck, chasing a hallucination, and holding a railing with both hands because she was so infirm.  Still only thirty-five.

She looked back to see if anyone had seen her stumble, and she saw a tiny figure crouched at the top of the stairs.

Small, like a chimpanzee in size and posture, it was lit from behind by the gas station, its features obscured.  The same sort of thing she had seen out of the corner of her eyes, in what she’d thought and hoped would be the full extent of her hallucinations.

It wasn’t alone.  Now that she looked, she saw four in total.  The original one, two in the bushes, and one taller than she was a few stairs down from her.

With the way the light struck them, they were mostly silhouettes, to the point she couldn’t tell where they were looking or what they were doing, but she had the impression they were watching her or reacting to her.

All together, according to some signal she couldn’t see or hear, they ran off, in the same direction the beast was traveling.  Before she realized what she was doing, she joined them, following down the stairs, both hands on the railing, crossing an empty road, and hobbling past a restaurant that was loading stuff into the back door from a dilapidated van.

The restaurant employees stared at her, but they didn’t run up to exclaim about the blood on her face.  One young woman raised a hand in greeting, which would have been nice if she didn’t lean over to say something to a colleague, the look in her eyes wary.

I must look like a crazy person.

Because I am a crazy person, now.

One of the small shadows disappeared beneath the van.  Three seconds later, someone dropped something, eliciting a cascading series of crashes.

Louise’s heart pounded as she left the scene behind, feeling guilty somehow, but feeling even more that she should follow the beast.  It was long-legged, huge, but slower and slower to move, as if it had to gather courage or strength to steady itself before it could take the next step.  She was just slow.  These companions of hers that stuck so close to the shadows quickly passed her and scampered ahead.

She and her hallucinated companions reached the heart of Kennet, where the houses were close enough together that people had to worry about neighbors, and there was actual separation between business and home.

The shadowy figures stopped there, remaining just outside of the light from the streetlamps.  Still following them, still hobbling a bit, because her side hurt, she walked into their midst before pausing.  Looking up at the swaying, struggling beast, she pressed on alone.

Streets were a maze, laid out because the houses had come first, individual cabins and fixtures that had been set up wherever was convenient, not far from the lake’s edge.  The roads had come later, the planners doing their best.

The taller buildings made it hard to keep the creature in view as she kept up with it.  It was too much walking for her side, and she shivered with the cold.

It’s going by the Arena.  Or to the Arena.

The Kennet Arena or the K-A was like the gas stations, brightly lit at a time the rest of the town had wound down.  Here, the parking lot was filled with parents talking to parents, kids talking to kids.  A good number of those kids were wearing hockey uniforms.  The building itself was one of the largest in town, next to the hospital, hosting a full-size hockey rink and gymnasium.  In a town with so little to do, there was usually a practice or a game at the K-A.  This might have been one of the last games of the season for the kids.

The beast placed one foot on the roof as it walked over the building.  Louise stopped at the street, hesitating at the traffic coming out of the parking lot, which was moving too slowly to let her believe the road would be clear, and too fast for her to make her way across the street.

She saw people looking at her, and felt self conscious.  She hadn’t showered today, she realized.  She was disheveled, she wasn’t wearing a coat, and she was hunched over a bit, one hand perpetually at her lower back.  If they saw the blood welling from her eyes, they might have assumed she had been in a car accident.  They didn’t, averting their gaze instead.

The great beast passed over the Arena, while she was trapped on the far side of the parking lot, feeling anxious.

It’s just a hallucination, remember? she thought.  She was having trouble convincing herself.

“Louise!”

Her awareness of her present state made her cringe more than anything as she heard the familiar voice.

She walked a few feet over to get a better look at Lincoln, an old classmate, leaning out of his truck window.  He was heavy, with a scraggly orange and gray beard, wearing a plaid shirt and a plaid hat with ear-flaps.

“Doing okay?” he asked.  “Want a ride?”

“Nah,” she said, anxious.  She looked over in the direction of the Arena, but the lights above the parking lot were bright and she couldn’t clearly see the beast on the far side.  The moon- she looked up.  Still bleeding.  “No need, my car’s parked near the gas station.”

He was trying to look friendly, but he had an anxious look on his face as he looked at her.  More anxious as the cars behind him began honking.  “That’s a long way.  You don’t have a coat on.”

Someone behind Lincoln honked, long and loud, which spared Louise from having to decide on a response.  He was holding them up.  Not that he could go far, with the way the road was clogged.  She would have crossed, but it was two lanes, and cars were going around him.

“Never been very good at taking care of myself, you know that, Linc,” she told him, her voice artificially light and cheery, even as her heart was heavy.  She was aware of the blood, the ‘hallucination’, that Lincoln wasn’t reacting to.  “Listen, I saw an animal run this way.  Dog or dog-like.  It headed around the Arena.  I’m just going to-”

She was interrupted by a cry, long and loud, that felt like it could have knocked the snow from trees.  Louise’s eyes were locked to Lincoln’s, and she held onto the fact that he wasn’t reacting, that he wasn’t bothered, that the cars around them were still honking, to keep from doubling over again.

She pressed a hand to her lower back.

“-me to come with?” he asked, the first part cut off by the tail end of the howl.

She shook her head, her eyes searching.  The lights over the parking lot left deceptive spots in her vision, when she wanted to see through the darkness beyond.  The honking continued, distracting.

The look he gave her was worried, pitying.  This was the point she’d sunk to, now.  If she’d once been one of those teenagers at the gas station, he could’ve been one of the others trading licorice for sour candies.

She saw a gap, started to cross, and a car honked.  She stopped.  It wasn’t a gap large enough for her to cross and continue to chase.

“Here, let me be an asshole.  And if you get too cold, you get inside the Arena, okay?”

He steered his truck, inching into the other lane, so he blocked both lanes that led out of the Arena.  The honking increased in intensity.

Louise gave him a wave of thanks as she jogged across the road, an action that almost took her breath away with the pain it brought.  She saw a glimpse of the worried look he was giving her.  Then he momentarily squealed his wheels in his hurry to get moving again.

She fast-walked between parked cars, stopping and taking the long way around here and there when people opened doors to get into their vehicles.  She wanted to get to the back of the Arena.

She first tried to go around the left of the building, but the traffic there made navigation too hard, with several minutes of waiting as she hoped for a break in the traffic there.

She walked to the doors, and peered through, but the crowds were too thick, too many parents, too many kids, the route through the building too winding, and too many others who might stop an unwashed, unhinged woman.  Unsure, she walked around to the right side of the building, and found a path littered with the cigarette butts from a hundred smoke breaks, a bit of a squeeze between the building and the dense foliage there.  She had to duck her head and shield her face from branches as she cut through.

Finally, she emerged in the back parking lot, and her first thought was that things were too bright, too white.

When she looked up at the moon, it was so bright compared to what it had been that her eyes hurt.  No longer strange, no longer dripping.

The great beast was gone, and she felt lost, like a child that had seen her birthday come and go with nobody remembering.  She didn’t know why and she couldn’t put it together in her head with the visions of blood.

It couldn’t have, wouldn’t have gone far, she hadn’t been delayed so long that it could have left.

Feeling unfulfilled and still heartbroken, the feeling of the howling still heavy in her chest, she walked this way and that through the parking lot behind the Arena, aimless.  A few people who had taken the shitty parking spots furthest from the building got in their cars to leave, girls in teal or orange hockey jerseys piling into the back with big sports bags.

A group of twenty-something men were packing up from their game of hockey on the outdoor rink, including Tom and Arnold from the ski hills.  They were roommates, sharing the house two minutes down the road from her.  Back when she’d been healthier, she’d caught their runaway dog and brought it back to them.  They’d been good neighbors ever since.  Helpers when she’d needed a lot of help, putting up a rod in her shower, checking in.

“Leaving already?” she called out, feeling very out of place.

“Hey, Louise,” Tom greeted her.  He was dark haired, with the stubble kept even with a razor.  “Ice is a mess.  Everything’s thawing.”

“Yeah, too bad,” she said.

“Last outdoor skate of the season, I think.”

“I hope it was a good one.”

“Was alright.  Need a ride?” he asked.  His forehead creased in concern.

“Nah, thanks.”  She waved him off.

At least he didn’t stop or insist.

She walked over to the rink, bounded by wooden boards that held up badly abused sheets of plexiglass that kept the pucks inbound.

Yeah, the ice was a mess.

Across the rink, she saw, there was a loose silhouette shape stained into the ice, matching a leg and paw of the great beast.  It extended, she realized, into the trees at the back of the rink, and onto the mountain of snow that had been built up over months of the parking lot being plowed and the ice of two rinks being cleared off.  It could well be the very last thing in Kennet to fully thaw.  On that mountain of snow, if she walked around, she could see the general shape of the thing’s ear and muzzle.  More of the stain extended across the outer perimeter of the parking lot.

All crimson.  Blood.

She hugged her arms to her body, shivering, as she walked the length of it, around three-quarters of the parking lot’s perimeter.  The red stain was thickest where the beast’s neck would have been.  Blood was sinking into frozen ground and snow in a pool as large around as the rink was.

It was only now that she finally felt cold.

What had just happened?  If this was a dream, was it supposed to symbolize something?  Was she finally dying?

If it was something else, if it was actually important… she didn’t know who to turn to, who to ask.

The cars gradually emptied out of the parking lot.  All but one of the lights shining down on the outdoor rink were turned off.  There were only stragglers now.  Girls talking while parents patiently waited.  Parents talking while their children scuffed snow with the toes of their boots, skates hanging from their necks by laces that had been tied together.

She trembled, turning occasionally to try and find someone, or figure out where to go.  She wiped at her cheek, and the blood had stopped flowing, starting to dry instead.  It came away in flecks.

“Did you just get here?”  A man’s voice.

“Yes.”  A woman’s voice.

Louise turned her head to look.  On the far side of the rink, standing between trees and the rink’s boundary, there were several people.  Two women and a man, and two children.  One of the children might have been humming or singing.  It was hard to hear.

“We’re too late then,” the man said.

“Clearly,” said the woman standing by the rink.  She was dressed well, with a nicer scarf and coat than most shops in Kennet sold, but she stood between the plexiglass and the trees, and a combination of scratches on the glass and the glaring reflection of the light above the rink obscured her from forehead to chin.

“What a mess, what do we do?” the other woman asked.  Louise was pretty sure she’d seen her in town.  Short, wide hips, maybe thirty.  She had bleached blond hair underneath a toque, and the lights caught her eyes, making them seem too bright.  Her expression was very serious.  Worried.

“We do what we have to,” the woman with the hidden face said. “Everything by the book.”

“By the book, our lives will be turned upside down,” the man said.  He was… Louise couldn’t place the name.  He worked at the tackle and hunting shop.  Friendly, easygoing.  Twenty-something, broad shouldered with a rounded jawline that made him look slightly overweight, even though he wasn’t.  The short beard he’d cultivated to suggest a jawline didn’t really do the trick.

He went on, more agitated.  “By the books we’d have to invite outsiders in to handle this, and in the best case scenario, I’m pretty darn sure they don’t leave after.  Most likely case, we’re goners.  Murder doesn’t get any passes.”

“Calm down,” the woman with the toque said, putting a hand on his arm.  “Don’t panic.”

One of the children grabbed her sleeve, holding a finger to his lips.  All went silent, but for the distant chatter of people and youths just outside the doors to the Arena, and the faint singing, which wasn’t one of the two children here.  Louise looked and saw more children in the dark between the trees.

All, child and adult, seemed to be looking at Louise now.  The woman with the obscured face walked around her companions, her hands in her pockets, and stopped by a tree, her face blocked at first by their heads, and now by a low-hanging tree branch.

All were tense.  Guarded.

“Do we know you?” the man asked.

Louise shook her head.  “I know you work at Buckheed.”

“Yep,” he said.  “You’re local?”

“Louise Bayer.  I live up by Blue Gas.”

“I’m Matthew,” he said, and his smile was wide, friendly.  He approached her.  “You have blood…”

She touched her cheekbone.  The blood was cold and entirely dry now.  She brushed it off.

“Yeah,” he said.  “You look frozen.  Here…”

“You don’t have to-” she told him, remembering the talk of murder, backing up.  But he was already pulling off his coat.  He held it out.

She took it, if only to keep things friendly-ish.  She winced as she reached out.

“Here,” he said.  He held her hand through the coat, and she felt a note of panic as he led her away from the others, toward the center of the nearly empty lot.  Uncomfortable and bewildered, she let him walk her away.  It wasn’t like she could fight, in the condition she was in.

He helped her put on the coat as he continued leading her further away.  “There.”

He backed up a few steps, his hands at his side.  The look he gave his companions was anxious, but the look he gave her was kinder, set beneath eyebrows that were up and drawn together.

The fact he’d backed off, at least, helped keep this from feeling menacing.

The coat was warm.  “Thank you.  I’m… bewildered.  I… you see that?”

She indicated the rink.

“I could try and make it all make sense for you, if you want,” he told her.

“Sure,” she said, hesitant.  “That would be appreciated, hon.”

He nodded.  “Tell me, are you one to lie?  Never?  Sometimes?  Often?  Do you know what I mean when I ask you that question?”

“I sure lie sometimes, more to myself than to others.  You’re doing a bad job of making this all make sense with questions like that, Matthew.”

“Did you happen to bump your head?  Brain tumor?  Bad trip?”

“No, no, and no.”

“Early onset dementia?”

“I have diabetes.  I had the warning signs, I ignored them for far too long, then I had full blown diabetes and I didn’t take care of myself after the diagnosis.  Now my body has crapped out on me.  Kidneys… I go to the hospital three times a week to get five hours of dialysis each time, and it’s not enough.  Hurts like-”  she noted the children.  “-fudge.”

The damn children weren’t talking, weren’t playing.  They just stood here and there.  None of them matched in the clothes they wore or the groups they came from, none reminded her of locals she’d seen, and none moved their lips, though the singing and humming in the background persisted.  The words of the song were indistinct.

“That kidney problem, or the diabetes, does it mess with your head?  Or did you come back from the very brink of death?” he asked, gently.

“No brink for me.  But when your kidneys go, you can start seeing things,” she answered.  She watched him carefully, and saw him nod, as if this somehow added up.  “Are you going to tell me this is all in my head now, Matthew?”

“You could say anything any of us see or experience is in our heads.  But no.  Listen, bear with me, and I think I can make it worth your while, and I don’t say that lightly.”

“And the world will make sense again, Matthew?”

“About as much sense as it did before you started seeing these things.  Tell me, you saw her?  Big, red, scary?”

“Big, red, beneath a bleeding moon.”

“That would be it.”

“But not scary.  Sad.  The blood on my face… I cried, hearing it.”

“Something that big, in your face, you’re not equipped to handle it,” Matthew said, and his voice was gentle.  “That’s why you had the bleeding.”

“It was real?” she asked, and her voice was barely a whisper.

“That’s a very tough question to answer and I’d worry answering it would just lead to many more questions.”

“Not doing a very good job of making this make sense to me, Matthew.”

“I know,” he said.  “Trust me.  How long did you follow it?”

“From the hills by the bigger ski lodge to here.  I only lost sight of it for a minute or two.”

“You tracked it here?”

“Followed it.  Sure.”

The women were talking behind Matthew.  The one with the obscured face broke away from the conversation.  He noticed Louise looking, and turned his head.

“We can’t tamper with the witnesses too much,” the woman with the hidden face spoke, raising her voice a bit as she made her approach.  The course the woman took kept Matthew between Louise and her.  Louise started to step to one side to get a better look at her, and a pain in her side made her look down.

Matthew raised his voice as he asked, “What are you thinking?  I was thinking we could do things another way.  Not by the rules others have set.  Keep certain other authorities out of it.  Handle all of the witnesses.  See if we can’t cover this up.”

“No.  That invites its own problems,” the woman said.  She walked up behind him, and leaned over his shoulder to murmur something in his ear.  His head turned, perpetually blocking the woman’s face.

Three times, at least three different ways that Louise couldn’t see the woman’s face.  Louise hadn’t yet caught a glimpse of it.  It made her nervous, and felt wrong.

The woman whispered to Matthew for a few moments.

“Yeah,” Matthew murmured, in response.

“What… what is this?” Louise asked, unnerved by the secrecy and the weirdness.  “What are you?”

The woman turned, her back now to Louise, and walked away, toward the bloodstained rink, hands in her pockets.  She spoke while walking away, her voice almost but not quite bearing an English accent, “The very young, the very old, and the infirm, can sometimes see what others are blind to.  This can be very unlucky or very lucky, depending.  The kind of luck that changes the direction of lives, or the unluck that ends them.”

“I’m happy to say you’re very lucky,” Matthew reassured Louise.

“I don’t… This doesn’t feel lucky,” Louise told him.  Her hands clutched the front of the coat Matthew had given her, over her heart.  “I feel… heartbroken?”

She had trouble articulating it, because she’d never experienced true heartbreak, but this was what she’d always imagined it would feel like.

“You’re right,” Matthew said.  “This is far from lucky.  This was and is a tragedy of the worst sort, the sort that hurts everyone, and you’re exactly right to feel the way you do.  But you being here is very fortunate for you and for us.”

“Not necessarily us,” the woman with the hidden face said, her back still turned.  She seemed to be studying the red stain from the side of the rink.

“The people who will look into this will be in need of those clues, and we’ll be desperate and in need of them,” Matthew said.  “If my life partner is willing to oblige me, I’d like to offer you a deal.  Edith?”

The woman with bleached blond hair and a toque took a few steps forward.  “She’s in a lot of pain, Matthew.  You’re too much a part of this to get involved, and you’re fragile.”

“I know.  But she’s dying,” Matthew said.

“That obvious, huh?” Louise asked, and she couldn’t help but feel she was butting into a conversation, even though that conversation was about her.

She wore a half-smile and she didn’t feel at all like smiling.  The sadness she felt at finally hearing those words and admitting the reality out loud was a close cousin to the heartbreak of hearing the beast’s howl.  Her eyes moistened, and as she wiped at one, the fluids proved clear.  An actual tear this time.

“Okay,” Matthew said, smiling.  “Here’s the deal, Louise.  We’re going to send a person or some people your way, so don’t make yourself too hard to find, it’s important you’re there when they come.  They’re going to ask you about tonight.  Help them, answer any questions, point them in the right directions, and be honest.  You’re going to remember every last detail you can, and I want you to go with the flow, act like it’s a day like any other.”

“Sure,” Louise said, dazed.

“Forget about us, okay?  Then, outside of any meetings with us or any other person or people who ask you about it, forget about tonight and forget about… that thing you saw.  Make it a total, comfortable amnesia that ends if you’re asked.  In exchange, I will take some of your hurt, pain, and suffering, and I’ll give you more time.”

“I don’t… how?”

“All you have to do is say yes, and if you want me to help you out more, again, if my life partner doesn’t disagree, I’ll give you a bit of a kiss.”

“That’s fine,” Edith said.

Louise shook her head, bewildered.  “I mean I don’t know if I can make myself forget that conveniently.”

“All you have to do is say yes, Louise.  This is, barring any outside intervention, a good deal for you.  Say yes.”

“Yes?”

“May I kiss you, Louise?” he asked.  “There’s nothing romantic to it, but these things traditionally work better with a kiss than with the holding of a hand.  Is that okay?”

“Yes?” she made it almost a question, again.

He touched the underside of her chin to raise her face, and then he kissed her.  It had been a long time since she had been kissed, and a longer time since she had been kissed in a way that made her heart warm.

That warmth was choked by a sudden hurt, black and bitter.  The hurt leaped into her mouth, and it tasted like regurgitated bile, metallic tastes, salt, foul-tasting medications, and the stinging smell of her own body odor when she didn’t shower frequently enough.  It filled her nose, and she twisted away.

He held her face, not letting her, his fingers gripping her chin to maintain the contact.  The taste and smell dissipated.  It was him who wrenched his face away, expression twisting.  He hunched over.

Dizzy, bewildered, she swayed on the spot, watched as this man pressed one hand to his lower back.

“You’ve suffered a lot,” he said, grimacing.  The woman he’d been with hurried to his side, supporting him.

“Yes.  My own fault,” Louise answered, adrift in the moment, her heart pounding.  She felt like she was floating.

He grimaced, but the expression became more of a smile, “Why don’t you go home, Louise?  Have a rest.  It should be a good one.  All of the stress and confusion of tonight should slip away as the memories do… and things will make sense again, if only because you don’t remember the things that don’t make sense even to us.”

“Yet, hopefully,” a woman by the rink added, her voice faint.

Louise looked around to get her bearings.  She was standing in a half-lit, mostly empty parking lot behind the Arena with a stranger – one of the employees from Buckheed.  It was disconcerting, things not adding up.  She felt like music had been playing, and her ears now rang from the lack.  The only noise was the rustle of wind.

“What’s next?” the stranger from Buckheed asked.

“We handle any other witnesses,” said his companion, a woman wearing a toque.  “Talk to the others.”

Why was she here?  Where was her coat?  Her car?

This is like that moment when you’re dreaming and you realize that things don’t flow together or make sense, she told herself.  I’m stuck in that prolonged moment.  Instead of jolting awake, I’m being sucked deeper into the mire.

It was the thought that connected everything, stirred her awake.  She sighed, releasing a tension she hadn’t known she had been feeling.  She opened her eyes.

She sat in her recliner, and a blanket was draped over her lap.  The throw from the couch.  Strange.  She never used it while in her recliner, because she felt like an old woman whenever she did it.  She gathered it up, and leaned forward, before wincing in anticipation-

No pain.

Every other morning, when she had forgotten she couldn’t move like she did before her health problems, the pain of sudden movements could leave her immobilized for minutes, breathing her way through it.  Now… it hurt, still.  It hurt as a dull and distant, small thing, but she was able to rise from her chair.  She walked over to the counter where she kept the pills without hobbling or staggering, her expression clear.

Morning light shone in through the windows, and she felt better rested than she had in months.

She opened the pill container, and collected her pills for the morning. She filled a glass, downed the handful of pills, and then decided to take her daily cigarette early.

Out to the porch.  She lit the cigarette, and stood out in the cold morning air, drawing in a full breath of smoke without any stabbing pain in her side.  Today was a good day.  A matter of minutes in and she knew it was going to be a better day than she’d had in years.

A stamped-out cigarette sat at the edge of the porch.  Had that been her?  She bent down to pick it up, reveling in the fact she could do so without her knees buckling from the pain.  She flicked it in the direction of her car, which she had parked sideways for some reason.

Her eyes found the horizon, searching treelines and the hilltops.  She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she found herself searching with intent and feeling disappointment when she didn’t find anything.

She kept looking long after she’d finished her cigarette, stopping only when the tips of her ears and fingers started to feel the cold.  She stretched, almost trying to provoke the pain she was so used to, and only felt a dull throb, like she was hurting from being punched a day ago.

Shower, she told herself.  Then a walk.  Get the blood flowing to those feet of yours.

After that, a cleanup.  Her place was a mess, and she had a feeling some people would turn up at some point.  It felt important that she be ready.

She couldn’t bring herself to go back indoors.  She gave the mountains and hills one last glance, then another, then another.  The looking felt wistful, with a faint sense of loss she couldn’t put her finger on.

A good quarter or half hour passed, and she spent that time outside.  It was something of a relief when she saw the car come up the road, an excuse to break the spell.  A truck she recognized.  She stood from her seat on the stairs, her butt cold.

Tom and Arnold, together.  They worked at the ski hills in winter and scraped by the rest of the year.  She waved at them as they pulled into her driveway.

“Louise, hey,” dark-haired Tom said, as soon as his door was open.  He slammed the car door.  “Everything okay?”

“I think so,” she said, and she smiled.  “Why?”

Tom shook his head.  “Had a bad feeling.”

“Kind of know what you mean,” she said.

“I mentioned it to Arn, he said he felt the same way.”

“My first thought was maybe something happened to you,” Arnold said.  He had light brown skin, his mop of snowboarder hair highlighted with blond.  “I remembered seeing you at the rink by the K-A last night.  You, uh…”

“I’m fine, boys.  Really, you’re sweethearts, but I’m fine.”

“That’s a relief,” Tom said.  His forehead was still creased in worry.  “I don’t know why I was so convinced something had happened.  It’s like…”

The twenty year old trailed off.  He looked back out over the town, toward the hills, and toward the Arena.  Like her, he didn’t find what he was looking for.  Arnold, too, looked worried.

“Come inside,” she told them.  “Give me a hand with cleaning up, and I’ll pay you for the trouble.  I’m expecting company sometime soon.”

“You don’t have to pay us,” Tom said.

“I insist,” she said, opening the door to let them in.  As they walked by her, she cast one last look out over the horizon before letting the door close behind her.

This was and is a tragedy of the worst sort.  The sort that hurts everyone.  The thought crossed her mind, in a voice that wasn’t hers.

Dutifully, she put that thought out of mind, as per the terms of the deal she no longer remembered making.

Verona

(Posted Last Thursday – Brochure)

---

Verona leaned over her kitchen sink, looking out past the window and across the long, narrow backyard to stare down a woman who might not have eyes.

“What do you want?” Verona asked, under her breath.  “What are you thinking?”

The woman was wearing a blue sweater with extra material around the neck, an ankle-length pleated skirt, and boots.  Where she stood, a branch hung low and the leaves obscured her face.  Verona couldn’t see her hands either.  One was hidden in the shadows of the foliage and the garage.  The other was blocked from view by the wind chime that hung just outside the kitchen window.

She leaned to one side to peer through the wind chimes, and the wind picked up, moving the long, dangling metal bars into the way.

She stopped leaning, and the wind died down.

Verona chuckled a little bit to herself.  “If this is you getting ready to come after me and do something horrible, maybe you could hurry it along, cut right to the chase?  Back door’s unlocked.  You don’t have to drag it out.”

The woman didn’t move a muscle.  She hadn’t for some time.

“I’d fight back, obviously, but if you’re this good at being freaky and messing with wind chimes or whatever, you can probably get away with murdering me.”

The water that was pouring into the sink made the suds collect enough that they touched her finger.  Grabbing a sponge, she walked over to the oven, giving it a scrub where pasta water from last night had crusted onto the glass stovetop.  There were grooves where the glass had melted from too-hot things being placed on top, and she gave those some extra attention.

She could hear the laundry beeping downstairs.  Jogging down, she went to the laundry machine to rotate the loads, pushing the sleeves of her sweater up a few times to keep them from getting in the way or getting damp.

She was in the middle of hanging up her dad’s work shirts on the clothesline that cut in an annoying way across the middle of the laundry room when her phone rang.  She extricated it from the tight jeans pocket and checked the time: 4:50.  She let it clatter down onto the top of the dryer before hitting the button to answer the call.

“I’m here!  Doing laundry!” she called out to the phone.

“I need you to help me think of something horrible to do to Avery.”

“Uh oh,” Verona said, without affect.  “Why?  What are you doing?”

“I’m going to make it so she’s in the middle of giving a presentation in class and then her hair starts falling out.”

“Lucy!” Verona laughed.  “You can’t say stuff like that!”

“We’re still at the school.  We haven’t even shopped yet.  I’d go in there and drag her out if I knew where to go to get her.  Making her hair fall out is being nice.”

Verona smiled. “But making her give a presentation might be going too far.  That’s cruel.”

“I can’t tell if I should laugh or roll my eyes at you.”

“Laugh.”

“I’m rolling my eyes, sorry.  Too lame a joke.”

Verona’s smile faded away.  She made a face as she fished her dad’s underwear out of the washer with one finger to minimize her contact with it.  She flicked it into the dryer and shook her hand, shivering.

“You can’t lie, remember?  That’s kind of a thing,” Verona said.  “If you say you’re going to make something happen like having her hair fall out, then you’re obligated to actually do it.  Or else.”

“I am going to do it.  We’re still at the school, Ronnie!  I sat through her practice, she went inside and she hasn’t come out.  We’re going to be late, on the most important day of our lives.”

“What could be the most important day of our lives.  Have to be careful of how you phrase things.”

“Ugh.”

“Did her teammates say what happened?  Maybe she got hurt.”

“She’s talking to a teacher.”

“Ohhh,” Verona breathed the word.

“Yeahhh,” Lucy said, echoing the sound.

“I’ve got to get some stuff done for my dad.  If he shows I’ll convince him to let me go for the weekend, if he doesn’t agree or if he doesn’t show, I’m going to leave and apologize later.”

“Leave now.”

“I don’t want any headaches, and my dad’s a headache.  I’ll be on time, don’t worry.  For now, if Avery comes out, don’t be too mean to her.”

“Ehhh.”

“Ehh, I know, it’s very ehhh,” Verona replied.  “But if you really get on her case, then there will be a bad mood hanging over everything for the day or the weekend, and that’d suck.  Be a little mean.”

She could hear Lucy’s snort.

“Do you want me to finish the shopping?  Or does that mess things up?”

“Can you?  I really don’t care if it messes things up a bit.  I’m antsy, and I’m annoyed, and the only way I can keep myself from losing it is if I think of more horrible things to do to her.  I’m sending her texts.”

“What do I need to buy?”

There was a rustling.

“Bread, milk, meat.”

“Meat’s a pain,” Verona admitted.  “I can’t bring it from home, right?  It’s my dad’s.  It has to be the corner store.”

“I was thinking about those deer pepperoni sticks, and that jerky you sometimes eat.”

“I’m not sure that it’s even meat.  I mean I love it, but I’m not sure.  Is that like… good?  Will they like it?”

“It works.  Or get the different kinds to cover some bases.”

“Okay, I’ll try.  Might have to get some cash from my dad.  Ugh.  Give me fifteen seconds, might be noisy.”

She’d finished hanging up everything that needed to be hung up.  She made sure everything was out of the washer, then turned on the machines.

“I’m going to murder her.” Lucy could be heard, over the rumble.  Verona scooped up the phone and jogged up the stairs.  “Dispose of her in the woods.”

The first thing Verona looked at as she stepped into the kitchen was the window.

Yep.  Still there, still not moving.  Still with face and hands hidden.

“Creepy miss hidden-face is in my backyard,” she remarked.  “Has been for a bit.”

“Avery and I saw her around earlier.”

“I wonder if she’s anxious or something.  Does someone like her even get anxious?”

Lucy made an amused sound.

“I’m serious.”

“Remember when we were wondering if she actually has a face, and it’s, like, awful?”

“Yeah.  We started wondering out loud if she might be burned or scarred or something.”

“And then we got into the really strange stuff, like what if she had a spider’s face?  Or a mess of holes and teeth?”

“Yeah,” Verona said.

“Do you think we could sic her on Avery, who still hasn’t come out of the school?”

“I think Avery is a sweetheart,” Verona said, at the same time she sighed.  She didn’t take her eyes off the woman.  “She’s not an idiot.  If she’s held up, it might be for good reasons.”

“Ugggh!”

“I’ll do the shopping and swing your way, over the bridge.  You’re out by the parking lot?”

“By the gate behind the school, closer to you, where you can see the sports field.”

“If she comes out, hurry this way.  Maybe call so I don’t walk right past you.”

“Okay.”

“I gotta finish up.  I’ll let you go.”

“Don’t forget your stuff.  I’ve got you down as… molasses and vegetable ash.”

“Yep, all packed up.  Just have to make sure I can leave without incident.”

“Good luck.”

“Same.”

She hung up, and spent a good minute scrubbing the top of the stove, until the white bits were gone.

She had to unbutton the jeans she wore to be able to comfortably bend down to scrub the front of the oven, the handle, and the groove that served as a handhold for pulling out the metal drawer below.  The jeans were from her shopping trip with her mom last fall, to buy stuff to wear for her first year of high school.  Now it was spring and as much as she hated it, she was outgrowing them.  They dug into her stomach when she sat down or crouched.

Her mom had been so frustrated when she hadn’t wanted to buy a lot of clothes.  It was Verona’s preference to have things that were very precisely hers, instead of a lot of things that kind of worked.  To those ends, she had two pairs of jeans she wore, this low cut pair of skinny black jeans, and acid-washed jeans with holes at the knees.  She had three sweaters, all with broad horizontal stripes, two of which were black and white, and then tops she tended to wear under the sweaters.

The sweater she was wearing now had a hole in the elbow.  The other elbow had had the same problem, but she’d patched it with black moleskin.  There were some loose threads of wool near the collar, too.  She tried to get them to lie flat and found they couldn’t.

She straightened up to a standing position, hooking her thumbs in her belt loops to get her jeans to where she could do them up again before finding the kitchen scissors to snip off the stray threads on her sweater.

As she dropped the strands into the trash, she gave the kitchen a once-over, popping open the microwave to check there wasn’t anything still stuck inside.  All handled.  Floor swept, counters wiped, stove scrubbed, microwave done, dishes cleaned.

Dining room was the same – table wiped, quickly wiped down with pledge, floor swept, papers sorted and put on the bookshelf behind the door.

She paused, looking out the back window.  The woman watched her.  She was pretty sure.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said.  Moving on…

Living room was vacuumed, and she’d dusted the mantle, top of the TV, and the picture frames.  She’d moved furniture to get beneath it.  The place had a faint baked smell to it, like the lint had gotten too hot inside the vacuum, and her nose ran a bit.

She’d decided.  She really, really hated cleaning.  She hated how insurmountable it was, she hated how cleaning off a surface often meant getting other things dirty, she hated every step in the process, and now that she was as close to done as she could get, she felt next to no satisfaction.  It would just get dirty again, and she hated that.  Hated that she was cleaning up a mess that would get made again and again for the next… however many years.  Fifty.  Seventy.  Crumbs and dust and gross food on gross plates, over and over again.

She stood in the doorway of the living room, surveying it all, and felt her dissatisfaction grow until she had to turn away.  She jogged upstairs, and pulled off her sweater as soon as she was at the top of the stairs.  She investigated the patchier bits as she made her way into her room.  There were more holes she could put her finger through, and the sleeve was damp from doing laundry.

With some regrets, she pitched it into the trash.

In the bathroom, she used a wet hand towel to wipe her face, neck, and pits, because it had been work to get all of the stuff downstairs done.  After a quick glance in the mirror, she grabbed her scissors and tidied her bangs.  She picked up a hand mirror to fix a few stray hairs at the back.

Her other sweater was similar to the one she’d just trashed, but the collar was wide enough it could slip off one shoulder.  She checked for holes, found none, and pulled it on.  The sleeves extended to her first knuckle.  Cozy.

She drew in a deep breath, exhaled.  She stood at a few different angles.

Serviceable.

“Ready,” she whispered, staring at her reflection.

She could hear a commotion downstairs as her dad let himself into the house, and she could feel it through the floor as the door shut.

She looked back at the mirror.  Her expression had changed, and it was probably the expression she’d had while musing on the cleaning.

She exited her room, walked down to the last few stairs, and took a seat on the stairs, watching.

Her dad was a big guy.  Tall, big around the middle, his eyes small.  He was red in the cheeks, and he was sweating enough that his hair -buzzed shorter than the hair on his forearms- looked wet.  He stood in the living room, wearing a short-sleeved button up shirt and slacks with zero personality.

Sitting on the stairs in the front hallway, she felt quietly pleased with herself as she saw her dad stand in the living room and look at the dining room.  She didn’t love the work, but… his reaction, maybe?

“Long day?” she prompted him, when he didn’t say or do much.

“There you are.”

“Here I am.”

“Scissors?” he asked.

Oh, she was still holding them.  She touched them to her hair.  As part of the back to school shopping, her mom had taken her to a stylist to get a french bob and she’d been trimming it herself to keep it in approximately the same style ever since.

“Yes.  A very very long day.  I’ve had a headache since noon, and then I had to deal with Louis and the mess he’s made of the client lists.  Renault is saying he wants to fire Louis for five months now, he has a paper trail of Louis messing up, but he won’t follow through.”

“Sucks.”

“I have to do twice the work.  I’d quit if I could get away with it,” her dad said.  “It’s exhausting.  You have no idea.”

She shrugged.  “I guess I’m glad I don’t.”

“Give it five years and you’ll understand,” he said.  He ran his hand along the top of the TV.  No dust.

Point for me, she thought.

“Um,” he said.  He closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead.  He did look like he had a headache.  “I was downstairs this morning.  Could you put on a load of laundry?”

“Done,” she said.  “Your shirts are hung up.”

Another point for me.

Doing the chores wasn’t satisfying, but this?  This was okay.  She leaned forward a bit more.

“Your room-”

“Cleaned.”  Point.

“Alright,” he said.  “As I was pulling in, I noticed the grass needs cutting.”

She frowned at him.

“It’s getting long, Verona, and it’s going to rain this weekend.  Can you get at least the front yard done in the next hour, before it gets dark?  And pull some spaghetti sauce out of the freezer to defrost.  I’ll tell you when to put on the noodles.  I’m going to go lie down.”

“Um, what?” she asked, standing up and leaning over the railing at the bend of the stairs.  “I just came home from school and spent two hours doing chores, and I don’t even get a thank you?  Or a ‘good job’?  I get more chores instead?”

“If you spaced out the chores more across the week, you wouldn’t have to spend two hours doing them.  There will always be more to do.  If you wait and it rains, the lawn will be wet and that much harder to mow.  Now please, I have a headache and the smell of the cleaning chemicals isn’t helping.”

“What’s the point?” she asked.  “Why should I even try if I’m never going to get credit for it?”

“Because if you don’t, you’ll get grounded.”  He said it like he was joking, his hand over his eyes, his head tilted back, a smile on his face.

She didn’t reply, staring at him with her eyebrows pressed together.

He dropped his hand and met her gaze.  His tone became more serious.  “Do you think my boss tells me thank you?  At either of my two jobs?  Do you think any of my coworkers give me a thumbs up?  When’s the last time you ever said thank you, dad, I sure appreciate you working six days a week to put food on my plate and a roof over my head?”

She paused, wanting to retort and not finding the answer ready.

“You haven’t,” he said.

“I have,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure.  She wracked her brain.

“This is just the way it is, Verona.  Houses are expensive, I don’t have time to do this stuff, so you’ve got to pick up the slack.  I get the bare minimum from your mom, I don’t have any help.  Our nearest family is a six hour drive away.  I need you in-”

“March sixteenth.  Your birthday,” she interrupted.

He shook his head, his tone exasperated.  “What?”

“I wrote in your card, thank you for everything you do.  I told you I appreciated your hard work.  In your birthday card.  I spent a lot of time thinking about what to write.”

“Okay.  Thank you, but that doesn’t matter, Verona.  It doesn’t change that this is our reality.”

“But you never say the same to me.”

“And you don’t say it to me nearly enough.  A birthday card two months ago is not a lot when I spend sixty-plus hours a week working for your benefit.”

She frowned at him.

“You can argue all you want.  The lawn still needs doing.”

“I was going to go spend the weekend with Lucy and Avery.  We have a thing.”

“And when were you planning to mow the lawn?”

I wasn’t, she thought.  “After?”

“Sunday?  Before it’s dark?  Front and back.  Knowing the rain and damp may make it more difficult?”

“Sure,” she lied.  “Or Monday.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah,” she told him.  “Can I go hang out with them?  And get a bit of money so I’m not being too much of a sponge?”

“I guess I’ll get myself a pizza,” he said.

“The money?” she asked.

He produced a ten dollar bill, handing it to her as he walked up the stairs.  She leaned into the railing to let him squeeze by.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I’m not comfortable with your bra strap on display like that.  I’m fairly sure the school has rules about that.”

She touched it.  Her collar hung off her shoulder, and there was just a strap there.

“It’s a top.” She pulled down the collar to show him.  “And I wore another sweater to school.”

“Okay,” he said.  The stairs creaked as he made his way up.

She waited until she heard his bedroom door close before stepping down from the stairs.  She put the ten dollar bill in the side flap of the gym bag she’d loaded with stuff.

She paused, the scissors in hand, then removed the childhood toy she’d put in the bag, and put the scissors in instead.

Her eyes scanned the vacuumed carpet and swept floors, the furniture she’d wiped down with orange-scented polish, and the still-wet counters.

She went to the freezer, pulled out the spaghetti, and ran hot water into a bowl with the tupperware container bobbing inside of it.

Nobody in the backyard, now.

Her dad would come downstairs to call the pizza place, find the spaghetti mostly defrosted, and because he hated wasting and refreezing food, he’d feel like he had to eat it.  If he asked, she’d say she didn’t hear about him saying he’d get pizza.  Or something.

It was stupid and it was petty and it made her feel better.

She grunted as she picked up her bags and then let herself out.

The west half of Kennet was largely residential.  There were a couple of houses that had old people living in them that were nice, with gardens that were tended to every day, but for the most part it was just kind of sad.  There wasn’t anything metal without some rust on it, an awful lot of the paint was peeling, gardens were barren after the winter, and lawns were only just seeing their patchy initial growth.  Where lawns hadn’t been raked enough, the leaves formed dirt-like clumps that made the lawns seem more patchy than they were.

Five thousand people lived here, and she was pretty sure there wasn’t one person who loved living here.

Well, no, that wasn’t true.  As she put her mind to the task, she could imagine there might be some criminal types who would appreciate the ability to lie low.  Or idiots.  Or the stoner snowboarder types who did almost nothing for half the year and then worked at the slopes the rest of the year.  If all you loved was weed and snowboarding then this might be pretty good.

She looked over the area, and part of her reason was because she hadn’t seen the woman with the hidden face for a bit now.

Disappointing.

There was a corner store by the bridge that divided the western half of Kennet from the eastern half, and she hurried to do the shopping for the milk, bread, the jerky and the venison pepperoni.

Loaded down with schoolbag, gym bag, and the plastic bag with the milk inside, she crossed the bridge and navigated the winding streets on the east side of Kennet.  Here, the buildings were spaced far apart, with desolate lots and grass-less fields between them.  A big box hardware store.  A dismal car lot.  The dance studio.  The Christian school.

Her school was Louis Riel Public.  A big, featureless block of brick with a lot of windows, and a bit of corrosion from the metal around the windows that stained the white-painted ledges.  Lucy stood at the opening in the wire fence, leaning into the post.

Just coming back to the school was kind of depressing.

“I’m going to murder her.  If this thing we’re doing is for real, I’m going to feed her to a troll or something.  If it isn’t, I’ll feed her to wild dogs.”  Lucy’s words were aggressive, and it was a stark contrast to how her hair bounced behind her head.  It was combed close to her scalp with only a few kinky hairs escaping near the forehead and ears, and was held back with an elastic, where it formed an almost perfectly round afro-poofball behind her.  Even though Lucy was black, her light brown hair had even lighter red-blonde highlights to it.

Whenever Verona didn’t see her best friend for a few days, she somehow imagined her as having pink in her hair.  No idea why, no rationale, but it was something that had been consistent since kindergarten.

Verona put down her bags, giving her hand a shake to get blood flowing to where the plastic had been tight against her finger.  She stepped into the school grounds, put her hands around her mouth, and drew in a deep breath before shouting at the top of her lungs, “Averyyyyyyy!”

Lucy joined her, shouting, “Averryyyyyyy!”

They kept going, drawing in deep breaths and hollering, until Avery’s face appeared in the second floor window above the exit.

“I’m cold, you moron!” Lucy hollered.

Avery’s face disappeared from the window.

“You could have dressed warmer,” Verona spoke between huffs to catch her breath.  Lucy was wearing what might have been a red sweatshirt dress with a stripe down the side, and her legs were bare from the knee down, her feet in red and white sneakers with little maple leafs on the tongues.  It looked new, even though Verona knew the shoes weren’t.

“I wanted to dress nice.”

The door opened, and Avery stepped outside.  She was pale, her bare arms and face covered in freckles, and her strawberry blonde hair was tied back into a short ponytail.  She was wearing a jersey over a t-shirt and track pants, and had a towel around her neck.

Lucy bent down, picked up her bag, and held it up.  “Do not tell me we have to stop at your house too!”

Avery almost skidded as she reversed direction, holding up one finger as she re-entered the school.

“I’m going to curse her,” Lucy muttered.  “I’m going to make it so her teeth fall out, she swallows every last one, and they bite her on the way out.”

Verona laughed.

“I’m getting it out of my system,” Lucy said.  “The oaths and lies and crap.”

“I hope so.”

“This is going to be weird.”

“Yeah,” Verona answered, still catching her breath after all the shouting.

“You got the stuff?”  Lucy bent down to fish in the plastic bag.  “Bread, milk, meat?”

“Yep,” Verona said, even though Lucy had already found and opened the package of ten pepperoni sticks.  She took a bite before frowning at the door.  “You got the wine?”

“Yep.”

“I asked before and you were evasive.  You said you’d tell me in person.”

“I asked if I could try a glass.  My mom gave it to me, I tried it, I kept the rest.  It’s not a lot.”

“Hm.”

“How fast does wine go bad?  It was last night.  I put it into a thermos.”

“I have absolutely no idea.  Doesn’t the alcohol in it stop it from getting moldy or whatever?”

Lucy chuckled.  “No idea.  Really hope this doesn’t screw us up.”

The door opened.  Avery had her bags this time.

“Sorry!  Sorry, sorry, sorry!”

“Walk fast,” Lucy said, steering Avery through the opening in the fence.  Verona steered as well.

I’m so not up to walking fast.  I just walked halfway across Kennet.

“Sorry, please don’t be mad.”

“Lucy’s going to curse you,” Verona said.

“Is that a thing?  Please don’t, if it is.  I have an excuse.”

“It’d better be a good one.”

“Ms. Hardy wanted to talk to me.”

“Sorry, that’s the opposite of a good excuse,” Lucy replied.

“It’s a terrible excuse,” Verona said, dropping her own hand from Avery’s shoulder.

“She wanted to have a serious conversation.  How am I doing, how stuff is with family, how’s sports.”

“Curse it is,” Lucy said.

“I’ll help,” Verona said.

“Stop!  Listen, I owe her so much.  She practically saved my life.  She was being nice and supportive, I can’t be all hurr durr, role model, favorite person, I gotta go.”

“Can too, when we have an appointment,” Lucy said.

Verona watched Avery’s expression change from something anxious and energized to something… like she was sinking into a mire.  This was the dark cloud she’d wanted to avoid.

“Let’s not fight,” Verona said.  “We have to get along.  Do you think you could own up to being the reason we’re late, if it comes up, Ave?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Verona glanced behind Avery’s head at Lucy, who seemed to visibly relax as Avery said that.  Leaning into Avery to reach across, she gave Lucy a poke in the arm.

“Fine,” Lucy said.

“I can’t imagine her being mad, though,” Avery said.

“No.  Me either,” Verona admitted.

They crossed the bridge, and immediately turned left, walking down the path by the river that fed into the lake.  The houses thinned out pretty quickly.

“Can we talk?” Avery asked.  “Fill the silence?

“Sure.  About what?” Verona asked.

“You know Melissa, with the big hair?”

“I know Melissa with the big hair.  Why?”

“She’s on the dance team and the soccer team.  She was asking me if you’d join the dancers.”

Verona sighed.

“No?”

“Different topic, please.  I’m sick of it.”

Lucy explained, “They’ve been bugging Ronnie about it since we had kids in our classes who were still occasionally wetting their pants.”

“Huh,” Avery said.  “That’s a thing?  I missed out on a lot with homeschooling, apparently.”

Lucy shrugged.

“Were you one of the pants-wetters in kindergarten?”

Lucy stuck her elbow into Avery, who bumped into Verona as she backed off.  Avery laughed, even as she tried to look apologetic to Verona.

Which was good, Verona decided.  It was a break in the more intense mood.

“Oh, I wanted to ask!” Avery said.  “The app.  She also mentioned this thing?  Like all the girls in class are rating the boys or something?”

“Everyone’s rating everyone.  I think all the boys joined in,” Lucy said.  She got her own phone out.

“Seems kind of a bit mean,” Avery said.  “And I have no idea what to do.  I was going to ask Ms. Hardy about it-”

“Tell me you didn’t,” Lucy said.

“I didn’t!  I didn’t, really.  Why?”

“Teachers would probably make us stop.”

“I’m apparently one of the last people who haven’t joined, which is why Melissa nagged me, but then that gets weird.  Like, I wanted to double check, if I answer now, can they figure out what my votes are?”

Avery had her phone out, and there was a heart in a circle at the top along with the app name: Class_RankR.  She’d already put in their school and grade.  There weren’t enough students in their school and year to form two whole classes, so they were technically in the combined eights-and-nines.  There was a list of classmates, some of which had pictures attached.  Others were smiley faces dressed up with hair in varying style and colors.

“I think you’re safe.  Everything’s locked and hidden until the person who organized it asks for the tally.”

Avery didn’t pick or submit anything new.

“You wanted to talk and now you’re being all quiet,” Lucy said.

Avery looked up from her phone.  “Do you think there’s any chance at all that I could end up dating Ms. Hardy?  Because she’s had girlfriends, and-”

“No chance,” Lucy said.

“Sorry,” Verona added.

“But… like, even if I waited five more years, turned eighteen?”

“You were her student, she knew you when you were a kid.  No.  If she did, she’d be creep and I’m pretty sure she isn’t one.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Lucy said.

Avery sighed.  “This sucks.”

“Yeah,” Verona replied.  She gave Avery a rub on the back.

The path they were walking down was sloping.  There were trees on either side, now.  The ski hills loomed to their right.

“Who did you guys pick?”

“Amadeus,” Lucy said, without hesitation.  “Second pick was, uh, George, I think.”

“Yeah, okay.  I think they’re pretty popular.  Verona?”

“I really, really don’t care.  I picked Jeremy and Wallace, because they seem like the kind of guys who wouldn’t get votes, and I like Jeremy’s drawings, and Wallace is cool sometimes.  They don’t deserve to get no votes.”

“That’s nice,” Avery said.  “If I could go out with anyone who wasn’t Ms. Hardy…”

Verona watched as Avery selected Pamela O’Neill.

“Pamela?” Lucy asked.

“Why do you always have a tone in your voice like you can’t believe it whenever I say I like someone?  I’ve mentioned Pamela before.”

Lucy answered, “I didn’t think she was your first choice.  There’s way cuter girls in class.”

“Pamela’s cute!”

“Pamela’s-” Lucy started, finished.

“You can say it.  If you want to be judgey, own it,” Avery said, with as much aggression and indignation as she ever mustered.

“A healthy size.  Kind of like Ms. Hardy.”

“You have a type,” Verona commented.  Her hand and shoulder were hurting from carrying the bags.  She was glad at least that Avery was distracted from her nervousness.

“I like that about her.  Like she’d give great hugs.  And she’s legit the nicest person in class.”

Lucy considered, then nodded.

Avery hit the submit button, with just the one choice on the list highlighted.  She heaved out a sigh.  “When do we find out?”

“Whenever.  It’s dumb,” Lucy said.  “It really doesn’t matter that much.”

“It’ll matter when the results come out,” Verona guessed.  “Someone’s feelings are going to get hurt.  Probably a lot of someones.”

“I just wanna see,” Avery said, putting her phone away.  “I worry feelings are going to get hurt.  Maybe mine.”

“Fingers crossed,” Lucy said.

As they walked down the winding path, the trees getting thicker, Verona was keeping an eye out for the woman with the hidden face.  She saw a figure in the trees, moving through foliage faster than someone should be able to, given the slope and the undergrowth.  Not much bigger than them.

She huffed out a laugh, the huff partially because she was a little out of breath.

“What?” Lucy asked.

Verona lifted the bag that held the bread and meat, pointing.

The small figure carried on down the path, slowing down as they ran.  They came to a stop at a bend in the path.

The three girls carried on walking until the person was in plain view.  They stopped.

A child, a couple years younger than them.  Despite the recent run, the boy didn’t heave for breath, and was almost motionless.  He wore mismatched clothes that looked like they had been picked from the lost and found, and his mouth was hanging open, with blood smeared across his lower face.  With the open mouth, his teeth were visible, half of them missing and the other half broken with black and brown at the edges of the breaks.

There were others nearby, it seemed.  Verona could hear distant singing.

Her heart was racing, looking at the boy.  She felt very conscious of her breathing, where she wasn’t quite holding her breath, but she was putting in the extra effort to not breathe too loudly.

“I am sufficiently freaked out now,” Avery whispered.

“You’ve got a little something on your face there,” Verona said, loud enough for the boy to hear.  She tapped her mouth.

“Verona,” Lucy whispered.

The boy turned, and then resumed running.  The sound of the distant singing faded.

“Don’t… agitate him.  Or it.  Whatever it is,” Lucy said.

“I am a little bit majorly freaked out now,” Avery whispered, her volume still low.

“Me too,” Verona admitted.  “Let’s keep going.  We don’t want to be late.”

Lucy checked the paper she had in her pocket- she was using the map from a brochure, and had other notes and lists with it.  “I guess we keep going forward until we get there.”

Verona still stood by Avery, her hand on Avery’s back, and she had the feeling that if she wasn’t there and Lucy wasn’t at the other side, Avery might not have budged.

They resumed walking.

“What’s the chance this is all a big joke?” Avery asked.  “Isn’t this stupid?”

“Is that why you procrastinated on coming?” Lucy asked.  Verona gave her friend a look, frowning, and saw an answering huff in return.

“I didn’t- no.  That really, really wasn’t why.”

“Five percent chance this is a big joke,” Lucy said.  “Too much weirdness, and I feel like they would have let us in on the joke before now.”

Verona considered.  “I was thinking more like fifteen percent.  It’d take a lot of smart preparation beforehand, but it could be a promotion for a scary movie or something.  The town could even pay for part of it if it got more people to come in the tourist season.”

“I don’t think it’s a fifteen percent chance this is all a prank,” Avery said.

Something moved through the foliage.  Bigger than a person, maybe, and it moved through the branches high above them, and it went from being twenty feet behind them to well ahead of them in a matter of a second or two.  Avery made a surprised sound.  Verona laughed.

It was nervous laughter, short, emotions spilling over, her heart racing in the silence after.

“You’re not going to go crazy on me, are you?” Lucy asked.

“No crazy here,” Verona promised.

Her friend was quiet, alert, and tense.  Lucy’s whole thing was showing no fear, no weakness.

The singing began to pick up again.  There were more figures in the woods.  More things moving through the foliage now, until the rustling seemed incessant.

There were other paths through the woods here.  She could see an adult male making his way through.  A guy she might have seen, once.  It wasn’t like he was a familiar face, but she felt like there might have been a time at a big event when she’d seen him, thought he looked scary or intense, and then never had occasion to think about him again.  Pale, his blond hair shorn short, he wore a canvas jacket that matched his pants, and he carried a bag.  He wasn’t old, but the lines in his face were deep and sharp.

There were others down the path too.  Faces that she did feel like she had seen around town.  A woman with wide hips and bleached-blond hair.  Maybe twenty-five to thirty five?  Verona wasn’t so good with that age range.  There was a guy sitting with her, broad across the shoulders, with a chin-strappy sort of beard that didn’t quite match his round jawline.

The woman with the hidden face was there too, hands in the pockets of a long coat.  She walked around the perimeter of the clearing as Verona and the others approached, and when it wasn’t low-hanging branches obscuring her face, it was leaves that had picked that moment to fall.

Verona looked around.  There were a lot of kids in the woods, along with the occasional adult.  Some had clothes that looked like outfits, others were mismatched.  A couple were naked, smeared with mud or blood.  Some had their mouths open, others had their mouths closed, but an awful lot of them had blood around their mouths.

The singing was louder now, and Verona couldn’t see the source of it.  Sing-song, playful, like a song that might get sung at the grade school, or a Christmas song with zero Christmas in it.  She couldn’t make out the words.

Neat effect.

The man with the short blond hair reached the clearing’s edge, and went over to lean against a tree behind where the toque woman and chinstrap guy were.

“Is this where you all murder us?” Verona asked.

“Murder?” chinstrap guy asked.  He looked surprised at the notion.

“Murder,” said another voice, “is the smallest of the things you have to worry about.”

The other voice was the latest person to join the group.  He took a similar path to the one the blond guy had.  He looked homeless, with the condition of his skin and hair, but his clothes weren’t that bad.  His hair was thinning on top, wispy, and his beard uneven, with wiry black and gray hairs.  Maybe an addict?  Something like that?  He didn’t look like he weighed much more than Verona or her friends.

“Children?” the man asked the woman with the hidden face.  “Really?”

“Um,” Lucy spoke up.  “Teenagers.  Technically.”

“I’m noticing we haven’t firmly ruled out the murder,” Verona said, subdued.  There was a lot going on around them.

“As far as I know and hope, nobody here has any intention of murdering you,” chinstrap guy said.

“You’re, um-”

“I’m Matthew.  This is my wife Edith.  That’s Miss.”

Miss was the faceless woman.

“Behind me we have John.  The others are waiting to poke their heads out of hiding.  Nobody wants to be the first to get spotted.”

Avery made a sound, drawing closer to Lucy, as something moved in the bushes.

“Children?” the man with the thinning hair asked, again.  He sounded kind of outraged.

“It made sense,” Miss said.  “Everyone agreed.  You included.”

“I didn’t- I wouldn’t have… not if I knew it was children.”

“I saw it,” Avery whispered.  Verona was annoyed at the interruption, when she was drinking in every detail, trying to put the puzzle together.  What was happening, who was important…

“What did you see?” Lucy asked.

“In the bushes.  It was… really ugly.  It had a monocle.  I can see a face in the branches above.”

“Oh,” Lucy murmured.  “Yeah.  I… wow.”

Verona was bothered that she was the one who was missing out.  If this was a prank, were they in on it?  They weren’t that good at acting, but…

“If you want to make an issue of it, you can take a stand, Charles,” Miss said.  “We won’t hold it against you.”

“Everything is held against me,” Charles said.

“Who’s he?” Verona asked, abrupt, pointing at the man with the hair so thin he looked almost bald.

“That would be Charles Abram,” Miss said.  “He’s your predecessor.”

The man was wild-eyed, swaying a little as he stood at the clearing’s edge, caught between looking at the girls and glaring at Miss.

“And, uh, what is it exactly we’re doing, that he was doing before?” Verona asked.

“There have been some arguable cases like Edith and Matthew here, but Charles was the sole practitioner of Kennet for a good decade.  But for him, you three girls, and the natural things one might expect to find in forest clearings, those here are best described as Others.  Beings that naturally exist beyond the realms and ken of man.  Charles would… manage us.  Keep people safe from us, keep us safe from people, and handle problems.”

“We’re here to solve a problem, right?” Lucy asked.

“Yes.”

“What have you told them?” Charles asked.

“Watch your tone, cullion worm.”  The words came from the trees, and they made Verona shiver.

Charles was already tense, but he went more rigid at that.

“I made them an offer, five weeks ago.  The two girls were friends already.  I pointed them to the third because three makes a good number.  I told them we would teach them of magic and strange things if they would help us with a problem.  One you can no longer assist us with, Charles.”

“The Carmine Beast.”

“Yes.  I’ve described only the most fundamental things.  I had them spend a weekend practicing avoiding lies, and watched them carefully.  I explained the ritual to awaken, in rough strokes, and told them what they’d need.  I told them they would be able to speak to the wind, or to flames, to see far things, to change their shape…”

“Go to magical places,” Avery said.

“Yes.  And curse their enemies.”

Verona studied it all, taking it in.

“I can see the little things, and the faces in the trees,” Avery said.  “But I still can’t see your face.”

“Or your hands,” Lucy said.

Why?  Why were Lucy and Avery getting this, when Verona couldn’t?  Verona was more scared at that than she was by the children with broken teeth.  She looked at the children, seeking out clues.

“You can’t see her face because of what she is,” Matthew said.  “We can’t either.  I wouldn’t worry about it.”

What she is, not who she is.

Verona turned, aware they were surrounded.  She could feel her skin crawl, see the intensity in Charles’ eyes, the cold expressions.  The strangeness of it, without the slightest hint of a giveaway…

She swallowed hard, turning again.

She could see the things in the bushes.  Small, ugly, and twisted.  Something she might have taken as a stone in the corner of her eye was a figure too lumpy and misshapen to be a person.  Three other things were perched on him, one maybe a girl, tiny with red-stained skin, her expression twisted into a permanent scowl, then a fat one with what looked like nails sticking point-out from the inside of his belly, wearing a waistcoat and monocle, and a scrawny one with a nose like a pickaxe.

In the trees- there was a figure taller and more muscular than a person should be.  There was a slender woman sitting on a branch, and what looked like maybe they were wings, draped around her like a blanket.  A teenage girl with eyes black from corner to corner, hair matted with filth.

“They’re so new,” the woman with the wings said, in that silky tone.

Edith’s eyes burned like flames.  Matthew’s eyes were too dark.

All with the backdrop of that crowd of mostly-children standing motionless in the trees, and the constant, eerie singing.

It was-

She let out a half-note of a laugh.

“There we go,” Miss said.  “We can continue now.”

“This is on your heads,” Charles said, growling the words.

“There what goes?” Verona asked.  “Why can we continue?”

“Your eyes are open.  It’s a good first step,” Miss said.  “Traditionally, to open someone else’s eyes is to take on a responsibility for that someone.  We’ve spread that responsibility out among ourselves.”

“So if we die, all of you only suffer a little?” Lucy asked.

“We have no intention of letting you die,” Miss said.

“Why were my eyes last to open?” Verona asked  “That doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s a good thing, Verona.  Those things that let you hold onto what came before, like skepticism, imagination?  They’re going to be things that make you an excellent practitioner, should you follow through here today.”

“Don’t,” Charles said.  “I don’t care if I make enemies.  You girls, I’m telling you now, don’t.”

“What’s his deal?” Lucy asked.

“The practice, as we call it, is best summed up as an ongoing contract.  By pledging to make your word inviolable, forces in this world will start listening.  Routine, ritual, and expectation have formed the grooves and determined how best to communicate with those forces.  Diagrams, symbols, knowing who and what to appeal to.  Many, many things become possible.  If your word is inviolable.”

“He lied?” Avery asked.

“Lying will hurt your relationship with spirits and Others by a very small amount.  But breaking an oath or promise?  It will make you forsworn.  Every force that worked for you as a practitioner will work against you.  The trappings of innocence and ignorance that protect most people in this world don’t protect the forsworn.  The unluckiest have no refuge, no means of self defense.  They become battlegrounds, their bodies open for any echo of a dead person, any complex spirit, any power to invade and try to take over, fighting among one another for purchase, and tearing up the substance of the Forsworn’s Self in the process.  And that is only one of the very many ways the Forsworn become vulnerable.”

“Do not,” Charles growled.  “I’m telling you three.  Walk away now.”

“Others, like Charles, make deals.  Some become slaves.  Others give up something.”

“And Charles?” Verona asked, staring at the man, who looked like he was ready to spit.

“I think we were kind, we were reasonable,” Miss said, with the hint of an accent.  “Once a year we give him something inconvenient.  A curse, for example, until we can deal with it.  Five weeks ago, we gave him a bit of sickness and that will be our contribution for this year.”

Charles looked off to one side.  He said, “You were very kind.  You could have made it a daily contribution and it would still have been kind.”

“What’s the catch?” Lucy asked.  “It can’t be as simple as just losing the ability to lie, in exchange for all of that.”

“Practices have their own prices,” Matthew said, from his seat on the fallen log.  “That price could be a simple offering of food, a little bit of risk.  But that’s not what you’re asking.”

“What do you want from us?” Lucy pressed.

The ugly little things were sniggering.  The smallest one had fallen from her perch on the largest one’s shoulder.

“Something terrible happened, of a scale that words cannot easily convey.  We need you to look into it,” Matthew said.  “No need to solve it.  Simply… look into it.”

“That’s sketchy as heck,” Lucy said.  “Elaborate?

“Five weeks ago,” Miss said.  “A very old, very powerful presence that helps manage this area was lost to us.  By old rules made thousands of years ago, the spirits, ambient and everywhere, may pass judgment on practitioners when it comes to matters of import; they decide things such as whether a person is forsworn.  By the flip side of that same coin, we’re not meant to look after our own affairs.  We need a practitioner to.”

“Our problem,” Matthew said, “is we have an equilibrium.  We’re free, we handle our own affairs when we can.  The moment we ask an outsider to come and they realize they could enslave us or make demands of us, the equilibrium falls.  They might exterminate the goblins.  They’d separate me from Edith.  They’d turn us into tools.  Names in books to be summoned.”

“It was always going to be some time before they realized the Carmine Beast was gone.  We hoped to have months, and we had five weeks,” Miss said.  “Now we need the ability to tell outsiders that practitioners are handling the matter.  Give us the ability to say that, help us where you’re able, and we will give you a share of all of our power.”

“You want us because we’re kids, we’re young, we’re… not threats,” Avery said.

“I picked you three for several reasons.  That was one, yes.  Our deal would include you promising not to seek undue power over this area or us, except where necessary to apprehend the culprit.  In exchange, each and every one of us would pledge to do you no harm, to give you power, and to protect you and lend you the aid we can against outside forces.”

“Like the murderer?” Avery asked.  “Or… did you mean lost as in missing?”

“With creatures that old and that important, the line between the two is a fine one.  Power is rarely extinguished, and the power that is the Carmine Beast is still in Kennet.”

“It’s-” Lucy started.  She stopped, looking around.

“We’re keenly aware of practitioners and visiting Others.  There have been none.  What’s left of the Carmine Beast is still in Kennet.”

“Meaning it’s one of you?” Lucy asked.

“It seems so,” Miss said.

“Walk away,” Charles said.

“You can walk away if you don’t like the terms of this deal,” Miss told them.  “You’re aware.  You’ll see things and Others, and they’ll know you see them, but you’ll be largely innocent, still.  You’ll have protections.  Especially here.”

Verona reached out for Lucy’s hand.  Her own sleeve still extended to the first knuckle, so when Lucy gripped her hand, she held it through the sleeve.  Verona could still feel how cold Lucy’s hand was.

Charles stared at them.

“I want more,” Lucy said.  “I want a promise, to make sure this isn’t a trap.”

“What are you doing?” Verona asked.

“That you won’t do anything that will keep us from leading long, full lives.  That you won’t just protect us from enemies, you’ll keep us… from whatever happened with Matthew and Edith-”

“It was a decision,” Matthew said.

“Still,” Lucy said.  “I think I want to grow up, get married, have kids, buy a house, get old.  You don’t stop us from getting those things.”

“Agreed,” Miss said, “we can make that part of the deal made.”

Verona clutched her friend’s hand.

“Then yeah,” Lucy said, with that stubborn look on her face, chin just a little forward.  “I’m all for it.”

“If I can go to neat places, travel, get… away,” Avery said.  “And if I’m safe.”

“As much safety as we can provide,” Miss said.

Verona almost said something, then changed her mind.  “You can’t lie?”

“I cannot.  Nor can the Others.”

“So we’re supposed to solve a murder-disappearance where the culprits can’t tell a lie, and can’t touch us?”

“Not without severe consequence.”

“Okay,” Verona said.  She looked at the various Others.  The woman with the hidden face.  Matthew.  Edith.  The filthy black-eyed thing in the trees.  The elegant, wing-wrapped woman.  The giant that stood in the background, barely visible.  The children.  The… goblins?  Was that what Matthew had said?  The man who leaned against the tree, with the short blond hair.

Her heart beat fast, and it wasn’t from fear.

“Okay,” she said again, with more emphasis.

Charles had been someone who looked defeated from the moment of his arrival, because, Verona supposed, that was what he was, fundamentally.  It seemed worse, now.

“Did you bring everything?” Miss asked.

“Yeah.”

“The Awakening ritual is a fuller opening of your eyes to the practice, and the commitment to your word.  From that point, you would be unable to tell a lie without consequence, sometimes steep and life-altering.  By committing to your word, you will be heard.  Other families may conduct the ritual in a symbolic fashion.  With props, important objects, and offerings symbolically offered to the various kinds of Other.  Here, to make the deals, your responsibilities, and your protections manifest, all of the sapient Others of Kennet are here to take the offerings in reality.”

“Sounds good,” Verona said.  Lucy and Avery were nodding.  They’d gone over this part of it.

“When making this commitment, it is best you are quintessentially, markedly you.  Most do it unclothed.”

“Not gonna happen,” Lucy said.  “Not in front of all of these people, and not when it’s still cold as tits outside.  You said there was another way.”

“There are many variations on the ritual.  What you wear may be what the spirits expect you to wear.”

Verona had put her bag down, and now she unzipped it.  She pulled out the mask.  A deer mask, carved out of wood and painted with tan at the nose and around the eyes, a speckled darker brown at the edges and ears.  She handed it to Avery.

Avery handed Lucy a fox mask, painted orange.

“Damn,” Lucy muttered.  “You’re way better at carving than I am, Ronnie.  That deer mask is great.  Sorry yours is…”

Verona shook her head.  A black cat mask.  It was simple, but she liked it.  She hugged it to her chest with one hand while offering Lucy the hat she’d made herself.  Each of them had a gift for the other two.  And for themselves, short cloaks.

“If we make these the focus of what the spirits see in the ritual, you’ll find your practice is best when you’re in full raiment.  It will give your words more weight then.  You’ll want to keep at least one thing with you when you might be practicing.”

“Cool,” Verona said.

“You’ll be bound together if you awaken together.  You’ll be stronger as a trio than as a pair, and stronger as a pair than alone.”

Verona squeezed her friend’s hand again.  She looked and saw that Lucy was holding the brim of her hat and Avery’s hand at the same time.  That would be why she hadn’t donned the hat yet.

“Is the hat culturally insensitive?  Or inaccurate?” Avery asked, lifting it up with a free hand.  “Or… really silly?”

“It’s too late for second thoughts, you ditz,” Lucy said.  She was wearing the fox mask, but had yet to put on the hat.

“It’s fun,” Verona said.  “And that’s part of the point.”

“There is still time for second thoughts,” Charles said, his voice rough-edged.  “And I worry the fun will be fleeting.”

Verona looked back at the path that led to the southwestern end of Kennet, and found herself nodding.

Yeah.  She didn’t want that.

“Nah,” she said.  She smiled.  “Let’s do this.”

Lucy

If their job was to solve a mystery, then there might never be a better time to pay attention.

Matthew was drawing lines in the dirt with a branch, pushing it in to carve deeper where the ground was hard from the cold.  He seemed focused on the task, without nervousness.

It was hard to not feel nervous.  There was so much strangeness, she barely had anything to defend herself with, and every single one of her senses were on edge.  The smell of nature with traces of other smells she felt like she should track, the singing in the background nagging at her ears, the eye-catching movements of the various Others, some sudden, others subtle, the chill in the air against her face and bare legs numbing her sense of touch, the dryness of her tongue in her mouth.  She shouldn’t have had the salty pepperoni earlier.

She could have pulled on the extra clothes she’d packed, or gone to grab a drink, but she felt like she would miss things if she did, and she had to keep to old promises to herself.

“Explain what you’re doing?” Verona asked.  She sat on her heels, wincing and bringing her hand to her lower stomach as she did so, looking at the lines.  “This is a magic circle?”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve drawn any diagrams,” Matthew said.  “It might help to think of this as a stage.  If you don’t spread things out evenly, it’s imbalanced, the stage tilts.”

“We were told, uh, one person shouldn’t do all the shopping,” Avery said.  She had her hands in the pockets of her track pants.  “Or bring all the things.  Same idea?”

“Similar idea.”

“What happens if the stage tilts?” Verona asked.

“I… that’s complicated, and might not have a singular answer,” Matthew said, as he drew out a circle.  “I could see a situation where the spirits look to one person in your group as the spokesperson or leader.  One person ends up holding the cards or having more power, while the others are supporters.  In the very worst case, the other two practitioners could be suppliers of energy or power for the primary figure.  I wouldn’t worry, we’re well past that and into safe territory.”

“I bought the meat, bread, and milk, plus the molasses and vegetable ash,” Verona said.  “That’s more than Lucy and Avery.”

“Minor,” Matthew said.  “If there’s a difference it’ll barely be noticeable.  It’s more to do with the division of labor and effort.”

“Then I think we did okay,” Verona said.  She looked over at Lucy.  “What do you think?  The wine was a pain?  But you just got the wine, right?”

“Yeah,” Lucy said, her arms folded.  Her legs were cold.

“And Avery got the… honey.”

“Honeycombs,” Avery nudged her bag with her foot.  “And honey too, of course.  I went to my aunt’s to get it.  I thought it’d be a nice touch.”

“Do you know what’d be the best touch?” the smallest, reddest little ugly thing piped up.  “Spit in it!”

“Uhhh.”  Avery looked a little disconcerted by that.

“P-pee in it!”

“Manage yourselves, goblins,” Matthew said, without looking up from his work.

The goblin with the monocle wrapped his hands around the littlest goblin’s lower face, knobby fingers with pointed claws interlacing.  “My deepest, lowliest apologies for my companion’s vulgarity.  She has a brain the size of a thumbprint and it is composed entirely of nightsoil.”

“Nightsoil?” Lucy asked.

“Is easier to show than tell,” the plump goblin said, adjusting his grip, reaching behind him and into the back of his pants.

“Uh, no!” Lucy said.  She stuck her foot out, toe prodding the fat goblin and knocking him off balance and onto his rear end before he could do anything.  He nearly lost his grip on the small one, returning to a two-handed hold on her face, fingers threatening to crush the smaller goblin’s lower face.

“Nice save,” Matthew said.

“What’s their deal?” Lucy asked Matthew, pointing.

“Goblins are creatures of filth, vulgarity, and the basest, and the ugliest of human actions.  The smallest of them are rude jokes in the process of being told ad-nauseum.  The most dangerous of them could be mistaken for dark and twisted gods.”

“Sir Toadswallow,” the goblin with the monocle introduced himself, giving them an insincere smile.

“Toadswallow.  Is that toad and swallow or toads and wallow?” Verona asked.

“Activities best enjoyed when it is both at the same time, girl.  It’s a stage name,” he said.

Lucy crossed her arms.  “What kind of stage?”

“I work with children,” Toadswallow said, before giving her a wide smile that showed all of his teeth.  “When a practitioner drops a bit of meat from their nethers and wants to teach it to deal with goblinkind, they like to have goblins they’ve met and made deals with beforehand for the practice and initial lessons.  They summon, I go, they pay me.”

“You might get better business if you didn’t call the clients nether-droppings,” Lucy said.

Toadswallow smiled, and it was so fake it looked like someone trying to smile for the first time and doing it badly… with added fangs.  “My most regular summoners seem to have misplaced their books, and I have some time to myself.  I’m training some of this lot to do the child-work.  Cherrypop is the noisy little foetal deposit here in my hands.  The big one is… let’s call him Bluntmunch.”

The big goblin groaned, low, long, and drawn out.

Toadswallow pointed.  “Over there, separate from my students, is… you can call it Gashwad.  Cherry, dear, stop fighting or I’ll drown you in an outhouse.”

Gashwad was off with some of the Others, perched on the shoulder of the man with the questionable haircut who’d been called John.  It had a nose like a toucan had a beak, and dark eyes that seemed stuck in a perpetual glare. The Giant who had been in the woods had ventured closer, and was talking to the goblin, John, and Miss.

The fact the giant was seven feet tall wasn’t impossible by human standards but he was seven feet tall and confidently carried muscle in a way that defied sense.  When he moved, her instinct was to assume it would move slowly, she would take a half-second to check other things in the environment, including the winged woman, who reacted every time he stirred, and then she would look back and find herself surprised that he’d covered as much ground as he had.  When he moved, his hair sometimes got out of the way of his face.  That was as distracting as anything.  Not that she was into it, but it felt like recognizing a celebrity on the street.

The woman with the wings hadn’t actually unfurled her wings.  She’d hopped down from the branch with them still wrapped around her.  She smiled in a way that suggested she had secrets as she glanced at Lucy, even as she wandered on her own.  The teenager with hair like the matted, moldy black stuff in a gutter stuck to the trees and stuck fairly close to the woman with the wings, crawling across branches and staying mostly hidden.

Lucy watched them carefully.  Was anyone acting suspicious?  What was suspicious or ordinary, when they were so far from being human?

“Um, Sir Toadswallow, what is it-” Avery started, before being interrupted by Toadswallow’s yelp.  Cherrypop had bitten him.  He shook her free and tried to grab her again, only to land on face and belly.

“John!” Matthew raised his voice.  He’d messed up the diagram, maybe when Toadswallow had made the sudden noise.  He pointed the branch at the squabbling goblins.  “Would you?”

The intense looking guy broke away from the other conversation.  He marched across the clearing, toward the goblins, who were too preoccupied to notice.  He scooped them up and pulled them apart with apparent ease, despite the fact that tooth, nail, and stomach-spikes were hooked into one another.

Strong, Lucy noted.

“Suckle my ass!” the tiny goblin screeched.

“Orders?” John asked.

“I order you to suck, suck, succckkle it!  Suck out my bloody insides and choke on them!”

“No orders,” Matthew said.  “But if you wanted to take them somewhere out of earshot for a few minutes and let me finish this, it’d help.”

John glanced back across the clearing, surveying it.  For a brief moment, he met Lucy’s eyes.

There was something about the look in John’s eyes that bothered her more than any creepy singing kids, any drunk old forsworn guy, or the way she couldn’t see Miss’s face.

Three years ago, she had heard shouting, and had hidden in her room.  When she’d finally crept out, she’d found her mother sitting on her bed, crying.  For one moment, before she’d realized Lucy was there, her mother had had this look on her face… like she’d been wounded in a way that cut deeper than bone.

Then her mom had realized Lucy was there, mostly pulled herself together, and even though she hadn’t been able to talk much because she was choked up, took her back to her room and tucked her in, giving her a kiss goodnight.

John, as far as she could tell, had that look on his face all the time.  He didn’t or couldn’t pull himself together, and he didn’t look like he tucked anyone in or gave anyone kisses goodnight.

She watched him walk away.

“You okay?” Verona asked.

“Hm?” Lucy gave Verona a quizzical grunt of an answer.

“You happy?  Excited?”

“I was,” Lucy said.  “I will be again.  For right now I’m mostly trying to take it all in.”

Scruffy Verona, eyes large in her face, nodded in answer, hand going up to the mask that lay flat at the top of her head to keep it from slipping, before turning to look at the various Others.

“I like that we got our mission, I guess,” Lucy said.  Her fingernails dug into forearms, and she balanced on one foot for a second so she could rub at a cold calf with the shin of her other leg in a vain attempt to warm it.  “Helps to distract, gives us things to start looking for.”

“I have a bunch of questions I want to ask,” Verona said.  “About twenty questions for each person here about the practice, and what they are, and how they operate.”

“We’re investigating a disappearance, remember?  Kind of.”

“-And ten questions about the disappearance.  Questions about who they are are going to be important for that too, I think.  We’ll get there, Lucy.”

Lucy nodded.  Made sense, considering who Verona was as a person.

“You okay, Avery?” Verona asked.

Avery was sitting on a log, a spare jacket thrown over her legs, her attention on the woman with the wings and the girl with the dirty hair.  “I’m freaking out a little.  Worrying a bit.”

“About?” Lucy asked.

“About… what if I want or have to move?  What happens then?”

“The deal is that you’ll look into matters,” Matthew said.  “If you have to move, you could still look into matters if you paid irregular visits.”

“But, you know, try not to move away if you can help it,” Verona said.

“Yeah,” Avery answered.

“They won’t get angry or impatient?” Lucy asked.  “If Avery screwed off and moved to Toronto or something, and only showed up every five years?”

“Every year would be better than every five, to check in, but I think it’s important to stress that many Others live forever, or they experience living in a different way,” Matthew told them.  “Patience, impatience, time, it doesn’t often matter in the same ways.  When it does matter, a lot of it is stuff you still need to think of from a different angle, like Faeries and their amusements.”

He indicated the woman with the blanket of wings wrapped around her.  She turned her head to look at him, smiling.

“So…”  Lucy drew out the sound, unsure if she should bring this up.  “Is that why it took five weeks for you guys to start investigating the disappearance of this Carmine Beast?”

Matthew seemed surprised at that.  “I think it might be.  Didn’t cross my mind.”

“The first forty-eight hours are the most important, aren’t they?” Lucy asked.

“I always hated that idea,” Verona said.  “Isn’t the last forty eight hours the most important?  Without them, nothing would ever get solved.”

“I know you think you’re being clever, but it’s mostly annoying,” Lucy said, frowning at her friend.

Verona laughed.

“The first forty eight hours might matter more in your world, maybe,” Edith spoke up for the first time in a bit.  She stuck her hands further into her pockets.  “The kind of evidence and details you’d want to track for an investigation like this… the trails don’t fade, they take more turns, at worst.”

“Hoping this doesn’t end with a big ‘surprise, ritual sacrifice!’ and knives in our chests.”

“If they were going to do that, they had plenty of opportunities before,” Verona said.  “And the parts of the ritual Matthew just explained make sense, I think.”

Lucy looked at the circle as it had been drawn thus far.  A triangle about three feet across was contained within a circle, which was ‘strung’, for lack of a better word, with five lesser circles spaced out around it.  That diagram was in turn surrounded by another ring strung with more circles.

“Almost done?” Verona asked.

“Bowls go in seven sub-circles arranged in a ring, offerings to Others,” Matthew explained.

“I’ve got the bowls for that,” Avery said.  “They’re my family’s.”

“Get them out, we’ll need them soon.  These circles will each have an offering supplied by one of us.  I’m thinking back to a ritual I was barely paying attention to when I went through it twenty years ago, but it should be myrrh, oil, spice, quartz, and.. holly?”

“I would suggest holly,” Miss said, from the other end of the clearing.  “It’s the old way, and our approach here hews to old ways.  Up to the girls.”

“What’s the new way?” Verona asked.  “And what does it change?”

“The materials connect to fire, earth, air, and water.  The fifth spot can be wood or metal, depending on culture.  Wood has roots, and metal points to the future.”

“Got it,” Verona said.  She walked over to her bag and began to scribble down some notes.  “I don’t have an opinion.”

“I like holly,” Avery said.

“Holly it is.  Here, we have your objects,” Matthew said, indicating the outer ring.  “They relate to the pillars of human experience.”

Verona, already by her bag, was ready to pull some things out.

Knife, skull, coin, timepiece, thread, Lucy recalled.

Lucy reached into her pocket while walking over to her bag.  She fished out two coins, and showed Matthew.  He took them, examining them.  “One of them isn’t a coin, exactly.”

“‘HBC 100’.”

“Not a coin, exactly, but it’s metal and it was a currency of sorts.  Hudson’s Bay Company.  My grandfather had a coin collection.  He left it to me along with some stuff like a shoe shine kit and some mugs.  That’s supposed to be more expensive than the other one.”

“Silver dollar?” Matthew asked.

Lucy shrugged.  “It’s not expensive enough to pay a month’s rent or something, but…”

“It’s good.  Either one works nicely.”

She nodded, taking the coins back and closing her fist around them.

She had a knife in her bag.  Hand made by her cousin, and it felt nice enough to qualify for a ritual.

Well, technically she had two knives.  They were part of a set.  She grabbed both, along with the thermos of wine.

She stabbed one knife into one circle that had been made in the dirt, so the handle stuck up, then walked over to do the same with the Hudson’s Bay coin, so it was buried just enough it didn’t fall over.

“I have three skulls in my room,” Verona said.  “I asked Miss and she said the one that was actual bone instead of clay or plastic would be best.”

Verona set a raccoon skull down in one of the circles.  It was missing a fang.

Avery had a knit doll that wasn’t quite finished, with the knitting needles and the yarn still attached.  She looked back at the knife, then stuck the knitting needles into the cold ground with a bit of effort, propping up the doll so it sat up, and so the yarn wasn’t sitting in the dirt.  “I never finished making this for my baby bro.”

“Considering what the thread is meant to represent, that may be a perfect choice,” Miss said.

Avery looked nervous.  She placed a pocketwatch inside another circle.  “My grandfather’s.  He was going to throw it away, I kept it for myself.  Way before any of this.”

Knife, coin, thread, timepiece, skull.

“Is it a problem if I use the same thing twice?” Lucy asked.  “Knife and then knife again.”

“The ritual is, at its essence, you introducing yourself to our world,” Miss said.  She walked through the trees, and she seemed to have little or no difficulty at all picking her way through the undergrowth.  “The only wrong answer is the answer that feels wrong.”

“Does anything here feel wrong?” Edith asked.

Lucy had given a lot of consideration to the things she’d contributed.  She looked over the other things.  She shook her head with enough emphasis she could feel her hair move side to side, pulling at the elastic.

“No,” Avery said.

“No,” Verona said.  She pulled on her mask as she said it, ready to get started.

A bit premature, as the food still had to be apportioned out.  The plastic bag from the convenience store had the carton of milk, bread, and meat treats in it.  They put everything into bowls, and with each of them carrying their personal items, the two bowls, and the clothing, they made their way to the center of the diagram, being careful not to step onto any lines.

They’d shared online videos about the mask carving and a website with tailoring templates for the making of the hats.  The differences in mask were intentional, any differences in the hats accidental.  Verona’s hat was just a bit floppier at the brim.

When they’d done the search for the capes, they’d agreed to use the first blueprint on the list.  They’d been halfway when they had discovered the cape designs were all different.  Not that it mattered.  Verona’s was closer to a cloak, and Lucy’s closer to a shawl, it was so short.  Avery’s looked like more of a cape, with a wreath around the neck and shoulders.  She wore it ajar, so it covered most of one arm.

They stood with their backs to one another, and Lucy felt Avery reaching back, fumbling.

She took Avery’s hand, which was awkward when Avery had a folded-up bit of paper clamped between two fingers.  Pulling the knife out of her pocket, she tried to do the same with Verona, holding Verona’s hand and the knife at the same time.

The Others began to draw near.  Children, John, who had returned with goblins, the woman with the wings, the girl with the filthy hair, Matthew, Edith, and Miss.

The fox mask only had eyeholes, so her breath was hot against her lower face, while her legs were cold and her hands and head warmer.  The eyeholes gave her almost no peripheral vision.

Miss walked around the group, and her face was consistently hidden by the backs and heads of the Others.  When it wasn’t, others moved, distracting Lucy, or the Circle began to somehow stand out more than everything else around them, also serving to distract Lucy.

The singing in the background faded.

“Suleiman Bin Daoud took the first steps to establishing a new relationship between human and Other,” Miss said.  “A lasting compact between human and Other.  There are forms of this ritual where we recite old words in your language and in Suleiman’s.  There are forms where we conduct old traditions.  At the heart of it, however, lies an invitation.  For you to join our world, and for us to cooperate with you in interacting with the world of man.  Would you invite us in, Verona, Avery, and Lucy?”

“Yes,” Verona, Avery, and Lucy spoke in unison, but it was only Lucy who added, “With provisions.”

She felt a fingernail from Verona’s hand dig into her hand.

“Provisions, of course,” Miss said, taking it in stride.  “We pledge you safety.  We will do you no willful harm to body or mind, and we will do what we can to give you a long and full life, and avoid barring you from such.  Agreed?”

“Yes,” Lucy and Avery said, in near unison.  Verona was a bit late.

“If enemies from without would stand against you, we pledge our intent to stand with you, those of us here available as bodyguards, soldiers, distractions, or counsel.  You three shall not be alone against any threat.  Agreed?”

“Yes,” Lucy, Verona, and Avery said.  In sync this time.

“We pledge to give you our power and our knowledge without reservation, provided that power is taken in goodwill and without undue harm, or taken with the will of the majority here.  Agreed?”

“Yes,” the three girls agreed, in sync again.

That will be important.  I was wondering how we’d handle things if we could find the culprit of the disappearance… now we can call a vote and drain them of power.  I think.

The entire area had darkened, but the light of the overcast sky seemed to stick, where it fell on the diagram around them and where it lit up the various items, foods, and the empty circles where items were yet to be placed.

Lucy could feel the expectation.  Miss didn’t jump in, elaborate, or give any indication, but…

“We pledge to fill the role that was once filled by Charles Abram,” Verona spoke up.  “If others expect you to have local practitioners, we’ll be those practitioners, so they can’t upset the good things you have here.  If Others stand in judgment over practitioners in crucial matter of word, we’ll manage what needs to be managed, without any interest in taking over, enslaving you, or harming those of you who don’t do unjust harm to others.”

We didn’t rehearse this.  Am I supposed to say something?

Verona sounded so precise, so adult, using words she wouldn’t use, like ‘crucial’ and ‘unjust’.

“We’ll deal with you fairly, if you’ll let us.  As equals,” Avery said.  She didn’t sound quite as confident, and her voice was muffled by the deer mask she wore.  “If you’ll teach us of your world and show it to us, we’ll do the same for you, and help keep you in our world.”

Lucy swallowed.  She was halfway through the swallowing when she felt that expectation fall on her.  So many eyes were on her.

“We’ll work on your problem,” Lucy said.  The words came easily.  It was like letting a ball roll downhill.  She had to fill in the blanks and she already kind of knew the answer.  “We’ll commit ourselves to solving your problem and bringing the culprit to justice, whatever form that may take.  If-”

She hesitated.  This wasn’t exactly words that rolled downhill.  Not until she formulated the idea in her head.  “If justice is warranted we’ll play our role in meting it out.  We’ll do our part to protect Kennet, Other and human.”

‘Meting’, like Verona’s ‘unjust’, was one of those words that flowed, the words coming from a part of her deeper than lungs or breath.

The light that sat in the lines was so bright the world beyond was like shadows against the back of her eyes.  There were only the lines, circles, triangle, the scattered items, and the Others.

Lucy herself was cast in shadow, but for the mask she wore, the brim of her hat, and the folds of the short cape she wore at her shoulder.

“Who are you?” Miss asked.

Lucy let go of the hands of the other girls.  She brought the sheathed knife she held to her chest, pressing it against her sternum.

“I am Lucy.  Lucille Desiree Ellingson,” Lucy said.  “I picked the fox mask because I wanted something with fangs.  It’s important to me that I have fangs.”

It felt like an admission of weakness to say that much, and that admission was jarring enough that she almost thought the ritual would end, forcing a complete restart from the beginning.  It didn’t.  Everything was suspended, the lines of light tense.

“…The fox is smaller than a wolf, clever, capable of finding its way into henhouses, unraveling hedgehogs, and using cleverness with those fangs instead of brute force or a pack.  Even though it has fangs, it’s not always a carnivore.  I picked this knife because… family.  It came from family and it can protect those close to me, who are family by blood or friendship.  Because I wanted something that was a tool and a weapon both.  Same idea.”

It felt like everything was brighter, but when she fixed her eyes on them, they didn’t seem any different.  It took Lucy a moment to realize that even though she wore the mask, it wasn’t hampering her peripheral vision anymore.

“My name is Verona Hayward.  I picked this antique pair of scissors because… I didn’t really think about it so much as I just did it.  But if you want to know who I am, I think I’m the type of person who can improvise a good answer on the fly.  Scissors cut, they craft, these scissors in particular stand out, and those are me things.  I almost brought a toy from my childhood but… I don’t want my childhood back.  I don’t want something that ties back to who I was.  I wanted something that can cut that tie and also point where I’m going.  I picked the cat for my mask because I wanted a confident animal, and I want to be confident.  I wanted an animal that’s comfortable in nighttime and shadow and you’d better believe I’m ready to jump in with both feet first and join some of you in the nighttime and shadows.”

“Avery Kelly.  I picked the deer because I run, and that’s what I’m good at.  I run fast, I skate fast, I like to go fast.  Maybe I run in other parts of my life.  I don’t know…”

Avery held the paper up, which had partially unfolded.  Not paper, exactly, but a photograph.  With her nervousness, the photograph shuddered in a way that exaggerated the shaking of her hand.

“Do I actually have to talk about it?” she asked.  “I didn’t think I’d actually have to explain it.”

Only silence answered.  Because, Lucy knew, it was Avery’s time to speak, and only her time.

She didn’t know if she was breaching protocol or threatening to disrupt the ritual, but she turned a bit, reached back, and placed a hand at Avery’s shoulder, giving shoulder and back a bit of a rub.

“This photograph, it’s from the last game of the last Hockey season.  It’s more.  It’s not the best photo of that night, or the most important photo of that night, even.  But it has all the important people in it.  I was homeschooled for a long time.  I didn’t have many friends and I really cherished the friends I did have.  My best friend and teammate- our hockey team has people pulled from Tripoli, an hour’s drive from here, because we didn’t have enough players.  Some of the other players from Tripoli would go to Swanson.  My best friend… changed from our team to Swanson, because she wanted to win more than she wanted to be my friend.  I left homeschooling and went to a new school and everyone had already formed their friend groups since kindergarten.  I spent a year so-”

Avery stopped there.

The mask hid Avery’s expression.

Verona stepped from her position in the diagram to give Avery a one-armed hug.  Lucy gave her another rub of the other shoulder.

Others watched.  A woman with a hidden face.  Children with bloody faces.  Sneering, vulgar goblins.  A man with an intense gaze.

Avery didn’t seem to care about them.

“-So alone.  Until I felt like there were times I couldn’t breathe.  It got worse when I realized there were big parts of myself that I couldn’t share with people, even though most would be okay with it.  My family’s big and I got lost in the shuffle.  I made a game of seeing how many days I could go where I only gave one-word answers or answered questions when called on by a teacher or coach.  If I had to talk or had someone talk to me, I’d reset my streak.  Even counting time with my family, I went twenty-three days one time before a girl in class complimented my shirt.  Then I had a streak where I got to fifty-one before I stopped counting.  I don’t know if it got to fifty-three or sixty.  It started out like a joke, and ended up feeling like I couldn’t breathe.  A teacher saved me.  From that.”

Avery took a deep breath, around the choke that emotion had on her throat.

“That game, that night, we played against Swanson.  The photo was taken after.  My old best friend is in there.  So is my family.  So are Lucy and Verona.  Photographs are still images and we tend to think of them as moments in time, but… that was the night I first saw Miss and got introduced to them.  And I’m so glad.  The deer thing?  Deer are strong.  Deer have antlers.  They kick.  I’ll kick you if you look down on me or try to do anything to them.”

Lucy nodded.

“When I went looking, you were the one I found first, Avery.”  Miss’s voice was quiet.

Miss stepped out onto the diagram.  The diagram had become more complicated, with more lines like constellations, squares, and sub-circles orbiting bigger circles.  There were three dimensions to it, and the circles that had held the items were now arches.

In the darkness where it was only Lucy and the other girls, the diagram, the items, and the Others just beyond the diagram’s perimeter, the light from below didn’t reach Miss’s face or extend to her hands.

The woman walked on the light, small bright circles forming stepping stones, lines serving as roads to cross the void.  Through the arch-circle with the doll, which turned its head to watch her enter and walk past it.  To an empty circle, where she placed down a dull orange stone.  She had to walk a quarter-circle of the way around before she reached Verona, moving a hand to indicate a bowl.

Vegetable ash.  The bowl was bright and the ash was dark.

Verona lifted it, and Miss reached in to take a pinch, raising it to her face.

She left the same way she’d come.

The rattling of metal drew Lucy’s attention. The knife had come free to the ground, and like a compass, pointed at John, who stepped into the knife’s arch.  It tracked his feet, shuddering toward a middle-point when both were touching the circle, and pointed after him as he ventured further in.

He made a deposit of what might have been oil, black and contained in a small glass vessel.  Then he walked around until he was near Lucy.  He indicated the bread, torn up and arranged in the bowl.  The rye crust was almost black, the bread itself luminescent.

She offered him the bowl.  With that dark look conveyed even with his eyes nearly cast in shadow, he took a chunk of bread and put it into his mouth, chewing, before departing the circle much in the way he’d come.  In by blade, out by blade.

The woman with the wings came in past the thread, which seemed larger and brighter.  She placed a chunk of glass-like crystal before approaching Avery.  Honey and honeycomb, which gleamed like gold.  As Avery held the bowl, the woman lowered her mouth to the lip, sipping from the edge as Avery tilted it.  She left by way of the coin.  That was different.

The goblins came after, in through the knife-door.  They took separate paths once they were there, the little one traveling almost a three-quarter circle around, hitting two dead ends before finally joining the others by Lucy.  Their offerings were thrown down.  Packets of spices and spices in plastic containers with labels peeled off.

Meat for all four of the goblins.  The raised edges of the meat glistened like ruby in this special darkness.  They scattered again.  Toadswallow left by hourglass.  The other three by skull.

The giant, tan and long-haired, with chiseled features partially hidden behind long hair, entered through the hourglass, almost stepping on Toadswallow.  He approached Avery, who held up the bowl.

He reached out and laid a hand atop Avery’s head, crumpling her hat and disturbing her mask, which had turned white.  With ginger care, he adjusted the bowl in her hand, rotating it ninety degrees before taking the bulk of the honeycomb from it with fingertip and thumb.  He exited by way of the sewn thing.

The girl with the filthy hair moved like a spider did, her movements too quick and jerky, her body low to the ground.  She navigated her way across by darkness, not the paths of the light.  In through the thread, giving oil.  Verona and Avery both reached for the bowl of molasses, blacker than night, and it was Avery who picked it up to offer it, tipping it into her mouth.  The girl left the same way she’d come.

Edith and Matthew entered at the same time.  Edith by skull, Matthew by the timepiece.  Their paths didn’t see them cross or intersect, as he contributed holly, and she placed a reddish gemstone by the glasslike stone.  He took wine that glistened like gemstone.  She took vegetable ash.  Edith exited by coin.  Matthew exited by skull.

Leaving the creepy singing children, the milk…

The Children came in past the arch with the skull, filing in one after another.  Fifty, a hundred.  There was no singing, only silence.

They took meat from Lucy’s bowl until she was sure it would run out, but even with twenty chunks of jerky and pepperoni sticks in the bowl and perhaps fifty hands, there seemed to be enough that it only ran out as the last hand reached in.

They filed out by way of the coin.

When she looked down, all the bowls were empty.  Even the milk.

“Close your eyes,” Miss said, from the shadows beyond the bounds of the diagram.  The Others weren’t visible anymore.

Lucy did.

There weren’t enough other sounds, sights, or things to go by, for Lucy to keep good track of time.  Even her racing heartbeat wasn’t any help.

“Open your eyes,” Miss said.

When Lucy did, she was in the clearing again.  Charles and the Others were there, in their arrangements, and she assumed friends stuck by friends.  John with one of the goblins and the giant.  The filthy-haired girl with the faerie with wings.  Toadswallow with his proteges.

“Open your eyes again,” Miss said.  “Don’t think too hard about it.  Just do it.”

She did.  Like the raising of an eyelid, she lifted up a veil that was entirely of her will.

The world was painted by watercolour, favouring dark blues and grays for the snow, dark greens and black for the trees.  More startling was the red.  Like bloodstains, the red was everywhere, sinking into snow, into trees, and even dirt, though it was hard to make out.  As if to facilitate that bleeding or bloodstaining, blades, swords, and shafts of wood impaled everything.  Ribbons, sashes, and tatters of cloth were tied to handles, blades, and shafts, and each blew intently in a different direction.

Even people had sashes, but it was hard to tell the origin points.  When she got closer she found things got blurrier, harder to make out, as if it was the opposite of the way things worked in reality.

“I might have overdone it, doing the double knife thing,” she said.  “I’m seeing knives everywhere.”

“I…” Verona said, with mirth in her voice, “am loving your hair.”

Lucy had to bring one hand to her afro-ponytail to push it to where she could see it.  Pink?

“Why the hell?”

Verona laughed.

She closed her eyes, much as she’d opened them.  Her hair was normal.  Light brown, glossy, with the highlights of blonde she thought of as the only thing she’d inherited from her dad, and total pain to take care of.

“What’s all this?” Avery asked.  She took tentative steps like a horse that had just been born, hands out for balance.  She waved her hand out to indicate the woods and the path back to the city.  “It feels like the harder I focus my eyes, the less I can see details.”

Matthew spoke up, “The Sight is something you can train.  With practice and specialization, you may learn to see connections that thread between people, to see things like dreams or the approach of Death, or more easily track the spirits and how they move.”

“Which segues nicely into my next question,” Miss said.  She stood by a tree.  “Where would you like to begin, young practitioners?”

Verona was moving this way and that, taking things in.  Lucy had a gut feeling that Verona would get to grips with a lot of this with a surprising speed.  Her friend was always so smart when it came to the things that didn’t matter, and all of this seemed like it took those things and made them matter.

Avery was still working on finding that grit.  That speech, and what she’d talked about, it had shown more courage and strength than Lucy had managed to summon up in the last few years.  But it would take a short bit.  The first steps with Avery were always shaky and hesitant, then she ran, either toward or away.  Hopefully all of this would serve to close the gap, make Avery more confident from those very first steps.

Lucy drew in a deep breath.

“We need the lay of the land,” Lucy said.  “What happened, who’s close to it-”

“We have a witness,” Miss said.  “A Louise Bayer.”

“After,” Lucy said.  She was thinking of the cop dramas she’d seen, how they structured things.  What else?  “We won’t even know what questions to ask, yet.  We need answers, first.  Who was the victim, this Carmine Beast, what was the victim, possible whys.  We’re going to talk to all of you, but not here.  Not now.  We’ll come to each of you or call you to come to us.  We want to know how you work, what you do, how you relate to the victim.  Hmmmm.  What else?”

“You’re on top of this,” Avery said.

“I’ve been thinking about it since before the ritual,” Lucy said.  She glanced at Verona, saw the look of interest in her best friend’s eyes, and remembered.  She addressed the Others.  “Be prepared to teach us or give us something, for our practice.”

“We should start from the basics,” Verona said.

“Who can teach us the basics?” Lucy asked.  “Both for practice and how this world works?  Matthew?”

“Edith can,” Matthew said.  “And Charles?”

Edith, with the toque, nodded.  She’d been so quiet, throughout.  Interesting.

Charles, who looked like a homeless man, rose to his feet from the rock he’d been sitting on.  He held one hand to his lower back, wincing.

“No need for the rest of you to stick around,” Lucy said.

“We don’t mean to be rude.  Thank you for this,” Avery said.

It was nice to have Avery around, if it meant she didn’t have to try to be nice.

“If you need me, call for me three times,” Miss said.

“Will do,” Verona said.

Lucy watched as Others left, searching for those telltale human signs, like nervousness, wariness, in things that didn’t have much or any humanity.

“Charles,” Lucy said.  “Can you write down the Others of Kennet?  We’ll need a list to work off of.”

Lucy was already formulating a suspect list.  She needed the names to go with the faces.

She wouldn’t be calling Miss, if she could help it.  Not when Miss had just jumped to the top three on her mental list of suspects.

Lucy’s Notes

Charles Abrams
Type:
Ex-practitioner, forsworn
Appearance: Sketchy looking dude.  Kind of guy who grows his hair long to make up for what he’s losing on top.  Greasy.  Dirty.  Skinny.  Brown/Gray hair & scraggy beard.
Appearance with Sight: Same?
Awakening:  Didn’t participate.

• Can lie.
• Seems pissed off at the world.
• Broke an oath, lost ability to practice.  Now he’s vulnerable.
• Owes the Kennet others a lot?  Maybe?
• Avery: Her #1 vote for most scary.  No observations.

Notes: Priority to interview.  Need to work out questions to ask.  Means motive opportunity?  Alibi?  Verona wants to know why/how he got forsworn.

 

Matthew Moss
Type according to Matthew:
Host
Appearance: Human I guess?  Brown hair + beard.  20-35?
Appearance with Sight: His eyes are in shadow.
Awakening:  Hourglass → Gave holly, took wine → skull

• Knows about magic circles and stuff.
• Married to Edith James.
• People can see him.  He works in town (sales).
• Was awakened a long while ago.
• Actively encouraged us to investigate but not to feel pressured to solve.  Why?
  
  Verona: reminds me of when I’d meet a friend or coworker of my dad and think they seemed suprisingly nice.  Then they’d say something that made me dislike them.
• Avery: During the ritual when I was saying personal stuff, I looked around for a friendly face and looked to him.  He looked more serious than caring?  Suprised me.

Notes: Interview Later – Verona wants to wait until he’s taught us before we spook him any.  More chance of catching him in lies?

 

Edith James / Girl by Candlelight
Type according to Matthew:
Complex Spirit
Appearance: Human?  Bleached blond hair.
Appearance with Sight:  Eyes glow like fire
Awakening: Skull → Gave red gem, took ash → coin

• Quiet so far
• Married to Matthew (didn’t take his name?)
• Knows fundamentals.  Sorta human?
• Verona: No idea what to say.  Name’s cool.  Wait until we hear more about spirits?
• Avery: Makes me nervous when a woman’s this quiet with her husband around.  It reminds me of distant family.

Notes:  Have to interview around the time we interview Matthew.  Couples talk.

 

Alpeana
Type according to Matthew:
Mare
Appearance: Filthy hair, totally black eyes, ragged clothes.
Appearance with Sight:  Same?
Awakening: Thread →  Gave oil, took molasses → Thread

• Friends with Faerie Girl
• Climbs a lot.  Sticks to shadows
• Shy?
• Avery: gets the feeling ‘Alpy’ might not give up much information because she seems secretive.
• Verona: Says Alpeana smiled at her & Avery after the molasses.  (relevance?)

 

 

Maricica

Type according to Matthew: Faerie, Dark Autumn
Appearance: Pretty.  Smiles a lot.  Long brown hair.
Avery thinks she has moth wings.  Verona thinks she has bat wings.
With Sight: Nothing after (she left too soon) but Verona says she saw something scary out of the corner of her eye mid-ritual.
Awakening: Thread →  Gave crystal, took honey → Coin

• She didn’t say/do much prior to the ritual.  Suspicious?  If I was guilty I’d want to keep quiet.
• I am glad I wrote things down because I’m noticing a lot of the mysterious others started out from the thread.
• Seems young?
• Giant guy was paying close attention to her
• Avery: Seems nice?
• Verona: Nobody smiles that much without something messed up going on there.  (Said bit in ‘With Sight’ above, added: I was glad I wasn’t feeding her).

 

 

Guilherme

Type according to Matthew: Faerie, Summer Above
Appearance: Handsome.  Long, pale hair, tan skin.  Chiseled good looks.  Muscles.  I’ve seen people as tall as him and people as muscular as him but never both together like that.
With Sight: Left too soon after the ritual.  Nothing special during.
Awakening: Timepiece →  Gave myrrh (according to Avery), took honey → Thread

• Fussy eater.
• Again, not a lot of info.  He was quiet (suspiciously quiet!)
• Avery: Friends with John?  They were hanging
• Verona: Not my vibe at allll.  Can’t say why for sure.  He hasn’t said or done anything and he feels like the kind of person I’d like least.

 

 

John Stiles

Type According to Matthew: Dog of War
Appearance: Blond buzz cut.  Scary look in eyes.  Deep lines in face.  Age indeterminate.
With Sight: Same?
Awakening: Blade →  Gave oil, took bread → blade

• My (Lucy’s) vote for least favorite Other by gut feeling
• Friends with goblins/manages goblins?
• Strong?
• Verona: Does he turn into a dog?  Should I not have picked a cat mask?
• Verona when asked to give more serious input: I feel like I’ve seen him at the edges of crowds or when things have been busy, but not the same way I’ve seen Matthew or Edith.  What does a dog of war do all day?
• Avery: He didn’t really catch my eye, but if I’m cribbing from Verona… does Kennet even have any war?

 

Toadswallow, Cherrypop, Bluntmunch, Gashwad

Type According to Matthew: Goblin
Appearance: Toadswallow is fat, bellybutton-high, monocle, spiky belly, dresses nice.
Cherrypop is red, ugly, big nose, squinty, messy hair.  Rat-sized
Bluntmunch is human sized but slouches, muscular.  Underbite, warty like a toad
Gashwad has a huge nose, glaring, beady little eyes, yellow-brown skin instead of pink like others
With Sight: No change?
Awakening: Blade → Gave spices (?), took meat → Skull for all except Toadswallow, who used hourglass.

• Distillations of filth and nastiness?  Vulgar words?
• Most don’t seem that bright.  If one had any part in this, seems like it would be Toadswallow.  He is training two others to work with kids?  How would that tie in?
• Feels like they wouldn’t be very good at lying.  Lots of infighting, they don’t seem to think much before saying stuff.  Might be useful?
• Verona: They smell.  If we’re writing up questions for the witness, we can ask if the crime scene stinks?  Stunk?
• Avery: My grandfather once told me if someone’s easily angered, you can use that against them.  Maybe if we have to we can do something like that with them.

 

The Hungry Choir

Type According to Matthew: Ritual Incarnate
Appearance: 50+ people, mostly young, varying clothes, varying appearance.  Some have bloody mouths or broken/missing teeth.  Lots of singing when they’re around.
With Sight: No change?  During awakening ritual, they were silent.
Awakening: Skull → Gave ? /  Took Meat → Coin

• Can’t remember what they brought.  There were so many it was hard to see & ritual was over soon after.  Makes me suspicious.
• Avery: Is it possible one did it?  Do we have to interview them separately?
  (Discussion followed this.  Won’t/can’t summarize.  By end we agreed they’re probably considered one thing)
  
• Verona: I haven’t heard them say one word.  How do we interview them if they don’t speak?

Note:  Interview soon, once we figure out how.  They might have shortchanged us in the ritual, taking but not giving.

 

Miss

Type According to Matthew: Unknown
Appearance: Woman, age indeterminate, face and hands always hidden
With Sight: Same?
Awakening: Thread → Gave Myrrh, took ash → thread

• Only thing more suspicious than someone trying to stay quiet and out of the way is someone trying to control the investigation and she’s controlling a lot.
• Friend of Matthew and Edith?  Who are also acting suspicious?
• Smart?
• The ones who missed or might have messed with the awakening ritual make me most suspicious right off the bat.  She pretends to want to set everything up, but how do we know if the woman with the hidden face ate anything?  What if she threw away our offering?  Is that like not signing a contract?  Top 3 suspect for me.
• (Avery)  …
• (Verona) …

Note:  We may have to be careful with this one.  Too smart.  Too connected.  I can probably think of 2 things that are alarming or suspicious for every thing that’s legit.

Avery

(Posted Last Thursday – Notes On Others)

---

Avery and her friends sat in the back of a beat-up old pickup, Avery with one hand on her hat, her mask in her lap, and a blanket thrown over her and Lucy’s legs, weighed down at the ends by their bags.  The wind blew past them, not as cold as it should have been.

Avery could finally let herself believe that all of the scary moments had been worth it if things could be this good now.

Not that things were excellent.  Just good.  Excellent would require someone she could cuddle up against, and less of the mind-numbing, stomach-gnawing anxiety that came with being in the back of a relative stranger’s truck as they drove down little-known roads into the Canadian wilderness, the sky black and moonless and the streets unlit by anything but the truck’s headlights.

It being ‘good’ despite everything said a lot, as far as she was concerned.  The awakening was done and she had her friends with her.  There was anxiety, yes, but there was also relief and excitement.

“Verona,” Lucy said.  She’d had a flashlight about as long and thick as a finger in her lips, and she had to pull it out to speak.  She shone it on her notebook.  “Give me one observation about Miss.”

“You’ve been on this for hours, Luce.”

“I want to finish her section.  I’m almost done here.”

“Hours.  We’re going to go to sleep tonight and I-” Verona stopped.  In the dim light of Lucy’s flashlight and the light of the truck’s cabin interior, Avery could see Verona rolling her eyes, her lips moving for a second before she continued, “-can imagine myself hearing you in my dreams, tonight.”

“Almost screwed up, huh?” Lucy asked.

“I think I’m one hundred percent so far for truth-telling.”

“Then open your mouth one more time, continue that win streak, and tell me one observation about Miss.”

Verona groaned.  “Give me one observation about Matthew’s truck.  Give me one observation about that black bear out in the woods.  Give me one observation about that unicorn you dreamt of.”

“You do not seem like the type to dream about unicorns,” Avery said.

“Come on.  I don’t like leaving things unfinished,” Lucy said.

Verona reached for one of the chocolate bars they’d got from the last rest stop, and Lucy lunged for it, upsetting the blanket and letting cold air beneath, chilling Avery’s legs.  Lucy seemed to want to take it hostage, but when Verona got two fingertips on it, pinning it down, Lucy stuck her foot out, kicking it away.  The chocolate bar slid down the length of the pickup’s bed to the tailgate at the end, stopping there.

Avery watched Verona huff, clearly annoyed by the fact the chocolate bar was now a matter of feet away, out of easy reach.

“Tell me, and maybe I can reach it,” Lucy said.

“I’m not going to answer your question until I have a chocolate bar,” Verona said.  “Ideally that one.”

“You-”

“That’s now fact,” Verona said.

“You shouldn’t use minor oaths for chocolate bars, Ronnie.”

“Already done.  Hey Avery, you realize you don’t need to hold onto your hat?”

“I don’t want it to blow away,” Avery said.  Her position, now that she was done fixing the blanket Lucy had disturbed, was skewed sideways, one leg extended to the bulge at one side of the truck bed where it accommodated the wheel beneath, her back was to the bag she’d placed between herself and the truck’s cab for cushioning, one hand on her hat, and one arm around the lip of the truck bed, holding the cool metal.  It didn’t leave her a lot of freedom of movement, but riding in the back of a pickup, exposed to the elements, on four sides, no seatbelt or anything, she liked claiming the security she could.

Verona rolled her eyes, picked up her own hat, and turned it over.  She had a bit of chalk, and began drawing.

“Ave, ignore her,” Lucy said.  “Give me one observation about Miss.”

“She keeps things hidden,” Avery said.

“Already had something like that down.”

“I mean, she told me during the ritual that she picked me first?”

“Can you expand on that?”

“It just feels like she can’t help but keep a lot of cards up her sleeve.”

“Good enough,” Lucy said.  She moved the narrow flashlight to her mouth, shining it on the book she was writing in, and began taking her painstaking notes.  Verona leaned in closer to try to borrow some of the light, and Lucy leaned away.

Verona used the light from the truck’s cab, instead.  She’d drawn a circle on the brim of her hat, and within that circle, she had drawn a triangle with a line through it and a line beneath it.  Now she drew branches off to the side, with curved arms.

Edith had given them the quickest of rundowns before they’d left.  Four symbols, all triangles, some with lines through them, each with ‘underlines’ to indicate orientation.  They’d been encouraged to stick to air for the time being.  They had organized themselves in the back of the truck, Lucy had started to write the symbols down before she could forget them, and she’d nearly lost her notebook to the fierce wind, before scribbling over the simple symbol and stopping the effect.

They’d sat there, cold and disappointed, debating about whether they should knock on the window and ask Matthew to stop.  They’d sat in dissatisfaction for about forty five minutes before he’d pulled the truck into a rest stop.  They’d peed, ordered hamburgers and pogos from a place with more bare wood than paint on the sign, had Edith explain runes and particulars again while waiting for their orders, and then hit the road again.

The second time around, they had tried out some of the basics.  How you could draw a circle with a rune within it and have lines radiating out, to emit that thing, or have a ‘bar’ perpendicular to the radiating lines to block that thing.  How a square or triangle could be used, but a circle was often best because it was equally strong around its perimeter.  Triangles could impart more force on the rest of the world because they pointed outward, but had points of weakness and points of strength, and could thus ‘collapse’, especially if the diagram was imbalanced.

There were air signs along the side of the truck now, drawn in chalk on the textured plastic.  Triangles pointing up with horizontal lines through them, enclosed in circles.  Each circle had a line extending up and away from it, with a ‘bar’ at the top.  Essentially a circle with a capital ‘T’ at the top.

Block the air.  After they’d drawn that, the chilly wind had stopped being a problem.

Verona seemed to be doing something more complicated.  Avery watched as Verona experimented, creating three radiating lines that bent at right angles, curved in quarter-circles.  There was already some chalk on the hat, like there was on the underside of Avery’s.  Edith’s work.

“What are you doing to your hat?”

“Experimenting,” Verona said.  “This should work.”

“Your hat is-” Lucy started, mumbling around the flashlight.

Verona’s hat flew out of her hands.  As the truck continued barreling down the road, the hat flew the opposite direction, and the dark material disappeared into the darkness in about one second.

Lucy reached up and pulled the flashlight out of her mouth.

Verona raised one hand, reaching up.  She raised her voice, “Come on!”

The hat, caught by strong wind, came from off to their left, blowing straight into Verona’s waiting hand.

“Yeah!  Whoo!  Thank you, spirits!” Verona called out.

Inside the cab, Avery saw, Charles was turning his head to peer through the back window at them.  Noticing the commotion.

Verona brought her hat down to her lap, spat on the part she had drawn on, and started to wipe the diagram away with her sleeve.

“That could have gone badly,” Lucy said.

Verona folded the hat so the circular brim was a half-circle, point caught within, and then stuck it into her bag.  “Maybe.  But Miss said earlier that this is about deals.  Words, actions, and routines.  They’re listening now.  Paying attention to our words, watching what we write down.  If you do something confidently, there’s a better chance it’ll work.”

“There’s also a chance you lose your hat and we spend three hours looking for it off the side of the road.”

Verona smiled.  “Maybe.  But it’s about routine, too, right?  According to Edith, these symbols for wind have been used by a variety of cultures for hundreds of years.  They were written about  by ancient people, they were passed on, taught.  So the spirits know how to recognize them.”

“Uh huh,” Lucy said.

“And it’s the same with our words, the longer we go without telling any fibs, the better we get at making ourselves heard.  They said that it’s a regular thing with practices.  Habits become patterns become expectations, for us and for the world.  We can set our own small routines.  If we do stuff and it works, it makes it more likely it’ll be a real pattern in the future.”

“And?”

“If we make a habit of doing a lot of practice and pulling off minor stunts and tricks, then that should become a pattern, and the pattern…” Verona let the words hang, a hand extended.

“Becomes expectation,” Avery finished.

“I think if I need to do something like toss my hat away and have it come back, or whatever, the spirits are more likely to give me a thumbs up and carry on doing what we did before, if I’ve done it a lot.”

Avery and Lucy exchanged a glance.

“Are you going to call me an idiot?” Verona asked.

“No,” Lucy said.  “I had a feeling you’d be annoyingly good at this.  But let’s talk to them before we make too many assumptions.”  She pointed the lightless end of the flashlight back toward the truck cabin as she said ‘them’.

“Sure,” Verona replied. She looked pleased with herself.

“I think it’s smart that you can do that… and it’s a dumb thing to do,” Lucy added.

Verona twisted around, then knocked on the narrow glass window at the back of the truck cab.

It was Charles who slid it open.  Avery could hear music playing from within.  Charles didn’t ask a question or speak.

“Can we ask questions?” Verona asked.

“We’re stopping soon,” Matthew said.  “You could ask then if it’s easier.”

“Quick question for now, then,” Verona said.  “I don’t want to jump to conclusions about stuff.  If I act a certain way with the spirits, practice a lot, it’ll become a… working relationship?”

“Yeah,” Charles said, his voice rough around the edges.

“Avery’s holding onto her hat, but if she has it protected from the wind, would it be good to trust the spirits?  Is that a good thing for practicing?”

“If you’re sure you drew it right,” Charles said.

“Thanks.  How long until we get there?”

“Getting where we’re going takes a day,” Matthew said.  “We left at six oh five, we should get there at seven oh five.”

“That’s very precise,” Lucy said.

“Didn’t hear that.”

“Very precise!” Lucy raised her voice.

“I’ll explain after.”

“How long until we stop?”

“Couple of minutes.”

“Thanks!”

Charles motioned like he was going to shut the window, checked they didn’t want to say anything more, and then slid it closed.

The road was long, flat, and straight, with the trees set very close to the road’s edges, the vast majority of them evergreens.  Avery pulled off her hat, checked the rune, and then took her hand off of it.  It moved here and there with the wind, but it wasn’t pulled off her head and lost in the darkness.

Her hands freer, she opened a bag of ketchup chips.  Even though it was a small bag half-filled with air, she didn’t finish it before the truck slowed and they began to pull off to a side road.

A campsite.

The truck pulled into a parking space.  The place was desolate, probably because there were still a couple places here and there where the sun didn’t reach, where there was still snow on the ground.  There were two other cars in the parking lot.

Matthew got out of the car and headed straight for the office.  Avery and her friends took a second to disengage from their blankets and bags, standing and stretching.  Avery had put a folded blanket beneath her and a blanket on top, and arranged her bag so the padding and the clothes inside were behind her, and she was still stiff and sore.  She was faster to get to her feet and get moving than the other two, and surreptitiously made her way to the end of the truck, where the candy bar had come to rest against the tailgate.  She pocketed it.

“Share after?” Verona asked.

“Maybe.”

The truck had been awkward, and the riding in the back illegal, but Charles didn’t have a license, and Matthew and Edith didn’t have room for six people in the truck cab.

Their bags had been strapped down, and Avery undid the straps before handing the stuff down off the sides to the two adults.

“Campground?” Lucy asked.

“It’s private, the weather shouldn’t be an issue, and it keeps us on course,” Edith said.  “Watch your step.”

“I’m fine,” Verona said.  “I can kinda see in the dark if I use my Sight.”

“What?” Avery asked.  She did as Miss had instructed earlier in the evening, and opened her eyes to the Sight.  She could see the flare of Edith’s eyes, and the world partially dissolved.  On trees, on cars, there were a multitude of handprints and footprints.  Bands extended like clotheslines or spider’s webs across everything, including a band from the truck to the office, another band to the truck, and another band that extended down into the woods, wrapping around trees on the way there.

Where there weren’t handprints and footprints, things were damaged.  Bark was peeled and broken, grass black to the point it looked like there was nothing there, and sections of wall around the camp buildings were splintered and shedding paint.

The bands were the interesting thing.  They were almost like old film negatives, partially transparent, silhouettes standing up and looking around.  Almost like paper with sections cut out.  Almost like something quilted, layers stitched on.  A middle-ground between all three.  Where there was too much negative, too much cut-out, or too little material, the bands looked like they could snap.  She felt like she could look at those scenes that formed the band and analyze them, but she couldn’t get close enough.  When she moved, they moved.  If she walked towards one, it rose higher until it was well above her head.

She remembered why she’d used the sight, and tried to analyze the world around her.  Movement and motion provoked shedding of bits of grass, bark, or paint, to the point she could tell that there were things out there, but… she couldn’t see in the dark.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Me either,” Lucy said.

“You could train your eyes to See that way,” Edith said.  “For now, I would guess your Sight is exaggerating your natural abilities, preferences, and your way of looking at the world.”

“You’d guess?” Lucy asked.  “You don’t know?”

“No,” Edith said.

“You weren’t a practitioner, then?”

Edith picked up Lucy’s spare bag, bringing it to her shoulder.  Matthew was exiting the building, having paid.  “Let’s get settled first.”

“Were you tired?” Avery asked, hefting her bag.  Charles extended a hand, like he was going to carry one, and she shook her head.  The man’s expression was unreadable as he started walking.  “I know my mom gets bad road hypnosis, when the roads are straight and monotonous.”

“It doesn’t matter much how long we stop for,” Matthew said.  “So long as we’re sticking with the journey.  It takes a day of travel to get to the Carmine Beast’s… domain, I guess it would be, or have been.”

They’d agreed they needed to know about the victim before they could start assessing the people who might have done the victimizing.  This, apparently, had been part of the plan and the timing.  It was why they’d been told to free up their weekends.

“Just to be clear,” Lucy said.  “It takes a day.  No matter what?”

“If you take a detour or aren’t doing something that’s part of the singular journey, you may have to start over,” Matthew said.  “Stopping to rest is part of a long journey.”

“We could have walked?”

“Provided you were walking away from civilization, yes.  The destination is wherever you are when you’ve been traveling for the full day.  But your feet would be sore after a full day of walking, and the directions call for not just a day’s travel, but a day’s travel in directions that take us further from civilization.  Taking a car north makes it easier to go somewhere without traveling toward a hub of civilization.”

“Huh,” Avery said.  “Then what?”

“When we get there, there will be a cue.  One that only the lost and desperate are likely to follow.  From there, it is a short distance to her domain.”

Lucy was using her flashlight to shine the way.  Matt had another, bigger one from the truck.

Edith turned her head to look off into the trees.  Avery, her Sight still active, could see the band that wound through the trees and along a path, extending to the distant campsite that Edith was looking at.

Edith pulled hairs from her head, twisted them together, and snapped her fingers at the frayed end.  A flame appeared, brighter than either of the flashlights.

“Campsite nine,” Matthew said.  “Here.”

They walked down the short path to the site.  Matthew set down a large bag.  Avery dropped her own stuff near the bench.

“So.  Can we ask questions?” Lucy asked.  She had her notebook with her, but it was closed.

“Go ahead,” Matthew said.

“You and Edith.  This isn’t a formal interview, but…”

“It’d be nice to know who we’re traveling with,” Avery said.  They’d agreed to wait to interview the pair.  A casual conversation was better.

“My name is Matthew Moss.  My father taught me some of the practice when I was young.  I did a ritual that resembled what you did earlier today when I was ten.”

“When we asked your name and what type of Other you were, you said Host.”

“It’s most accurate, but I trained as a Heartless.  A practitioner who gives up select fragments of their mortality or takes from others in pursuit of life everlasting.  My father was caught and killed by witch hunters while trying to take the last years from people at a palliative care home.”

“Witch hunters are a thing?” Avery asked.  She pulled off her hat, placing it on the bench next to her, looking over one shoulder.

Edith, kneeling by the concrete-ringed campfire, ignited the wood that had been left there, cold and damp, by past campers.

“Witch hunters are a thing.  I wasn’t interested in obtaining more youth when I was already young, especially after losing my father.  I carried on, with basic practice under my belt.  Some shamanism, some of the heartless practices that made life easier without needing to prey on others.”

“I taught you the basic runes and ways of interacting with spirits using diagrams because they’re very good to know as fundamentals,” Edith said.  “You can tap into forces like wind, fire, earth, but spirits can represent anything and everything in this world.  A single twig has spirits of wood, of the color brown, of life, pine, and nature touching on it and affecting it.  A heartless practitioner can benefit from knowing how to interact with spirits of life or death, how to recognize them.  A binder might pay closer attention to spirits related to certain emotions.”

“Like knowing your math or spelling.  There are very few jobs where you won’t benefit from being able to write a coherent email or add up your paycheque,” Matthew spoke, staring into the fire with eyes that were cast in shadow the firelight didn’t touch.  “There are very few practices which can’t benefit from something like ‘I need a little bit more of this’ or ‘I need this out of the way while I work’, when ‘this’ could be anything from heat to hate to a bit more Self.”

Avery was glad for the fire.  She put her hands out.  The night was dark and the woods darker.

“I bring up the shamanism because I noticed a disturbance and I found the Girl by Candlelight.  A complex spirit.  Remember how Edith just said you can have all those individual things in a twig?  Those things can fall away or separate, and attach to something else.  An echo, or a ghost if you prefer to call it that, or whatever event shook them loose shook enough free that the stray spirits were able to clump together.  They form into something coherent, and the complex spirit that results can be a fleeting existence or a concrete one that gets its rougher edges sanded off by time.”

“Were you more concrete?” Verona asked.

“I was and am fleeting,” Edith said.  “Practitioners have a responsibility to tidy up messes and keep ordinary people from being inconvenienced.  Matthew followed a trail of small fires and sightings to me.  The ghost of a girl who suffocated on smoke in a house fire.  The emotions and spirits shed in a roadside, candlelit vigil for a teenage girl who died in a car accident.  A child’s pyromania, manifested in anxiety and confusion, cast away as the child grew up.  These things and other, smaller things found each other and were bound together.”

“She was the most interesting thing I’d run into with my practice in years.  I tried what I could to keep her fueled and together,” Matthew said.  “I talked to her for hours, sometimes, trying to bring out the responses that helped her take more human shape.”

“Seven years ago, a girl named Edith James tried and failed to end her life,” Edith said.  “She suffered severe brain damage and necrosis of the intestinal lining.  It wasn’t pretty, especially with the grief the family suffered in the wake of the attempt and the hospitalization.  There was next to nothing of her left, so… I moved in.  The two years I was learning to operate a brain and a body were excused as Edith James’ recovery.  Her family was overjoyed, and that fragment of her that remains inside this body is content that they aren’t grieving.”

“And you?” Lucy asked Matthew.

“We found each other again.  She needed help.  The darkness that haunted Edith, the doom, had become complex in its own way.  It wanted fruition, and was trying to attach itself to the Candlelight Girl within.  I made the transition to being a Host, a practitioner who takes spirits and other immaterial things like ghosts or elementals into their body.  Done well and carefully, hosting something lets you draw on its power and qualities.  I carved out a hole in myself to take it in using the practices I was taught as a youth, but Edith’s darkness is too large and unwieldy for me.  I have power if I need it, I can draw on its strength, but I have to be very careful.  I can’t really practice and haven’t practiced for seven years, and the practices I can do are all touched by the force I hold inside myself, or directly related to it.  Darkness, pain, doom.  At this point I would better be considered a human turned Other than a practitioner.”

Avery leaned forward.  “So you’re both kind of the same, but…”

“But different.  In the end, I, Matthew Moss, love the Girl by Candlelight.  She, I hope, loves me.”

“I do.”

“And the darkness I house wants to finish destroying her flesh and what remains of the original Edith James.”

Lucy’s finger tapped a pattern on the notebook’s hard cover.  She seemed to be considering.  Avery was about to ask something, when Lucy came out and said, “You kept your last name, Edith.”

“We got married in hopes it would make her stronger against the darkness,” Matthew said.  “And because we were and are in love.  We decided stability was more important than redefining who ‘Edith James’ was.”

“Yes,” Edith said.

They’re still kind of doing that thing where Matthew does the talking for Edith, who is quieter.  Like my second aunt, Avery observed.

“I guess this became more of an interview after all,” Verona said.  “This is interesting.”

“There’s a bunch more questions I want to ask, actually,” Lucy said.  “But I think they should wait until we know more about practice and the Carmine Beast.  Charles?  Can we ask you things?”

“It’s why I’m here,” Charles said.

“About your past, I mean.”

“Oh.” He heaved out a sigh.  “Go ahead.”

“How did you get forsworn?” Lucy asked him.

“I broke an oath,” he said.

Avery wasn’t exactly keen on having Charles with them.  When she imagined an axe murderer, she tended to imagine someone who looked kind of like Charles, but with more muscle.  Now, being here and watching him, it seemed to her that the kind of person who would be that unhinged wouldn’t be doing pushups or lifting weights.  It made sense they’d be as gaunt as this man was.

She wanted to feel sorry for him, but she would have much rather felt sorry for him from a distance, without him sitting across the campfire, his freaky face lit from below by the flames, shadows dancing across creases and old scars.

“What oath?” Lucy asked.

“I had a friend over.  A fellow practitioner.  He was… a tricky friend.  The kind you have to make excuses for, or warn friends about before you introduce them.”

“Hmmmm,” Verona made a sound, her chin on her hand.  She turned her head toward Lucy.  “Hmm.”

“And?” Lucy asked, putting a hand out in front of Verona’s face.

“He was opinionated, he didn’t like to let things go.  He came so we could talk about the process of creating an Other.  A kind of summoning.”

“Tell us more about that?” Verona asked.

“Maybe put a pin in it for later?” Lucy asked.  “Let’s continue with the basic story.”

“It’s not a long explanation.  I wanted an invisible presence that would look out for trouble.  Something like a roving eye, that could check that certain dangerous things hadn’t escaped, or notice if a bogeyman or vicious goblin were out there preying on people, so someone could be notified and the monster stopped.  My friend was an augur.  He would have handled the part that let it watch and observe.”

“Did it work?” Verona asked.

Lucy elbowed her friend.  “Are you going to get us sidetracked every single time someone talks about practice or Others?”

“It’s interesting and worth knowing,” Verona protested.  “It tells us about who Charles is as a person.”

“We never got that far,” Charles said.  “I made dinner.  We talked, we drank, and the conversation changed several times.  It got onto the subject of politics.”

“My grandfather is really political,” Avery said.  “It seems kind of miserable.”

Charles huffed out a small laugh, in what might have been the first glimmer of anything  like amusement or positivity from him since they’d met.  “Miserable, and it feels more miserable every year.  Our talk got heated.  He argued for the sake of arguing, I argued out of passion.  He needled me, using topics he knew I was sensitive about, and I’d been drinking.  He said something unconscionable, I picked up a glass to throw it, saw the look on his face, and he looked victorious.  I threw it against a wall instead.”

“How do you get forsworn from that?” Verona asked.

“I didn’t even remember back then, but the look on his face told me there was something.  Around the time we’d first met, he’d had me promise him he’d be safe from any harm at my hands or the hands of my guests.  I hadn’t thought we’d have a long-term friendship, then.  I’d needed him for one thing.  But it was enough, and it still counted, later.”

“Note to self,” Avery said, quiet.  “Remember my oaths and promises.”

“Be sensible about the ones you do make,” Charles said.  “That one wasn’t so bad, but it was too broad, too long-lasting.  If you think you might forget, put a time limit on it.”

“Miss chocolate bar,” Lucy said, looking over at Verona.  She turned her attention back to Charles.  “I thought you didn’t hurt him.”

“I realized he’d been trying to corner me or pull something.  I told him to leave.  Angrier than I had been.  He was, and I have to imagine he still is stubborn.  I pushed the table, enough to force him to take that one step toward the door.  He did, and he stepped on broken glass.”

“That was enough?” Avery asked.

“Yes.  Especially considering the ways of the spirits, Others, and old traditions.  For much of human history, hospitality and respecting one’s guests was one of the most important things.  Turning away a traveler in need could kill them.  Disrespecting a guest or host could be disastrous.”

“How does it work?” Verona asked.  “What does it look like when you’re Forsworn?”

“When someone calls you forsworn, as he did, there is a process.  He looked me in the eye, he named the oath, and he named the wrong.  If there’s no person to do that, then the world has a way of telling you.  A crack of thunder, a tremor in the earth, a vision.  It can depend.  Then the person forsworn gets an opportunity to answer it.  It’s a heavy thing to name someone forsworn.  If the person answers and they didn’t actually break the oath, the person trying to forswear them is forsworn instead.”

“He was playing with fire.”

“He knew what he was doing,” Charles said.  “I couldn’t answer it.  His blood was drawn by my violent actions.  I immediately took steps to mitigate the damage.  Protections and practices I’d set in place were coming undone.  My demesnes was collapsing in on itself and I had things within to rescue.  I would later find he’d taken some of my things while I was distracted, before he left.  He could get away with it too, because when you’re forsworn, you become a karmic sinkhole.  Open season for everyone, with no rights.”

“When did all of this happen?” Lucy asked.

“A decade ago.”

“What was the political argument?” Lucy asked.

Charles raised bushy eyebrows above eyes with deep circles beneath them.  “Is it important?”

“You tell me.”

“It was about prisons.  The government then was making noise about privatizing Canadian prisons.  Following the god-damned American model, when we once had a prison system that was top three to top five in the civilized world.  It seemed so important then.  Now, if it weren’t tied to my being forsworn, I might have forgotten that argument entirely.  Stupid.”

“What was your relationship with the Carmine Beast?” Lucy asked.

“I see.  We’re going there?” Charles asked.  “I’m a suspect?”

“Everyone is, not just you,” Lucy said.

“There was none.  I only got a few glimpses of her.  I reached out once or twice, after being forsworn.  There was no answer.”

“Were you angry there was no answer?”

“I’m angry at a lot of things.  This world is happy to make you a part of it until you stop being useful, and then it discards you.  Remember that.  Keep it in mind always, and maybe you’ll avoid getting what I got.”

“Easy does it, Charles,” Matthew said.

“No,” Charles said.  “No, there’s nothing easy about this at all.”

“Were you angry at her?” Lucy pressed.

Charles, still looking at Matthew, still fresh off the retort, seemed to need a few seconds to gather himself.  He sounded tired as he muttered, “Not especially.”

“Why did you reach out to her?” Verona asked.

“Because, among the Others around here?  She’s close to the top.  If anything or anyone could change my situation, it’d be something like her.  When you’re facing a life sentence, Veronica, you appeal.  You write the governor.  You do whatever you can.”

“Verona, not Veronica.”

“It’s not short for-”

Verona was already shaking her head.

“Sorry.  And what I said stands.”

“Where were you that night?” Lucy asked.

“I was with Matthew.  He brought me things.”

“Magical things?” Verona asked.

“Some groceries.  Things for putting up a shelf.  He wanted access to the books I still keep around.”

“Why?” Verona asked.

“Can you verify, Matthew?” Lucy butted in.

“I went over that night.  Trading some basics for information.  I’m always engaged in some form of research, in hopes I don’t have to lug this ugly thing inside me around for the rest of my life.  One of the goblins came by to tell us the Carmine Beast was dying.  They’d followed it to the edge of the city, but couldn’t go further.”

“Why?” Verona asked.

Matthew cracked his knuckles.  Beside him, Edith laid a hand on his leg.  She looked more comfortable and not like the diminished, abused wife now that she was by the fire.  Matthew answered, “Because they’re goblins, and to put it in the simplest terms, the more civilized an area is, the harder it is for them to venture inside.  I left, I caught up with the others there.  I took note of the witness.  We figured out our next steps.”

“And you?” Lucy asked Charles.

“I stayed home, I put up my shelf.  I made a late dinner.  The goblin was there.  Bluntmunch.  I fed him some of my dinner, gave him some booze.”

“He can corroborate?”

“He’s not as dumb as he looks.  He should remember.”

So he has an alibi?  Or either Matthew or the goblin can lie?

“So you’re saying you didn’t, and others will back you up in that.  You say you didn’t want to,” Lucy said, speaking very carefully.

“Uh huh.”

“If you did want to… how would you go about it?”

“If I did want to…?”

“Kill or vanish the Carmine Beast.”

“It’s at or near the top of the food chain, girl.  It’s-”

“Don’t call me girl.  Don’t do that,” Lucy said.  “Just like you wouldn’t call my brother ‘boy’.  Don’t be that guy.  Don’t diminish me.”

“Didn’t mean anything by it.  So soon after getting her name wrong…”

“Just don’t.  I’m Lucy.  Lucille if you want to be formal, but I hate that.”

“Lucy.  I can’t seem to win, ever.”

“You were saying?”

“I’m saying it’s at the top, I’m so far down that I need to rely on people like Matthew here to ensure I can stay fed.  The universe is against me, I can’t hold a job, I can’t keep a place of my own, and the karma hit that comes with being forsworn means I’m on everyone’s shitlist.  I have no earthly idea how I’d do the deed, even if I could still practice.  Like this?  Impossible.”

Lucy’s head turned slightly.  Matthew and Edith were nodding.

“What could?” Avery asked.

“I don’t even know,” Charles said.  “But I haven’t been paying a lot of attention.  Mostly I’ve been trying to survive.”

“Matthew?  Edith?” Lucy asked.  “Who or what could?”

“It’s a very short list,” Matthew said.  “We can talk more about the Carmine Beast tomorrow.  It’s the point of this trip, after all.”

“Should we turn in?” Edith asked.

“If there’s no objections,” Matthew said.

There weren’t any.

“A bit of a lesson, while Matthew sets up the tents,” Edith said.  “We’ve talked about some of the ways a simple circle can be elaborated on, when drawing diagrams.”

“You sense this stuff on a fundamental level?” Verona asked.

“I do,” Edith said.  She reached into the open fire, which hadn’t gotten any smaller or more diminished by the ongoing burn, and she pulled out a stick.  She began drawing in the dirt, walking the perimeter of the campsite to create a large circle.  “The ‘T’ shape forms a bar, if you remember.  What happens if we turn it upside-down?  The circle sitting on the ‘T’ shape instead of the other way around?”

“Holding something in?” Avery asked.

“Yes.  Insulating.  Triangles serve much the same function, but we’ve already talked about how triangles are shorthand for the various elements.  They point, and are more driven,” Edith explained.  “What do you think would happen, if we were to drive heat in?”

“We’d cook?”  Verona asked.

“Possibly.  We don’t have a defined power source yet, and no nearby source of heat, so it’s possible and likely the circle would break, instead.”

Verona began taking notes, while Edith continued working on the diagram.    Blocks for the wind at the north, east, south, and western points, while insulation for heat were set at the northwest, northeast, southwest, and southeast.

Charles lay down across a bench, and seemed to be getting himself settled to sleep there.  Matthew shook out the tents.

Lucy had pulled out a sleeping bag, and was watching all of them.

“Luce,” Avery said, quiet.

“What’s up?”

Avery’s eyes fell on Charles.  “Want to sleep in shifts?”

Lucy followed her gaze.

“They’re strangers.  This is all strange,” Avery said.

“What time are we getting up?” Lucy asked, her voice loud enough it startled Avery.

“The sunrise will probably wake us,” Matthew replied.  He seemed to know what he was doing with the tent, with one already almost put together.  “If we sleep in, the sleep stops being part of the travel, and we’re delaying or interrupting the journey.  So it’ll be sometime soon after we wake up and eat.”

“In eight hours?” Lucy asked.

“Something like that.”

“Two-and-a-half hour shifts?” Lucy asked, quieter.

“I can take any extra, if we gotta,” Avery said.

Lucy nodded.

Avery got herself settled, her sleeping bag was thin enough it was probably for summertimes, not winters, but the diagram was finished, and she could already feel the area getting more cozy, the warmth from the fire gathering within.  She situated her bag to where she could sit up against it and watch everything.

Verona was sitting inside her sleeping bag, rummaging around.  Avery wasn’t sure what she was doing until Verona pulled out a sock.  She averted her eyes as Verona pulled out her pants, as well.

This would all be so cool if it weren’t for the gnawing fear that hung over everything.

It would be nice to get stronger, learn more, and be able to defend herself.

The tents were set up, and Edith and Matthew got inside theirs.  Charles slept outside, lying on the bench with his face skyward, the crook of his elbow at his nose.  Avery sat at the aperture to her tent, watching Matthew and Edith’s tent, and the sleeping ex-practitioner.  Behind her, Verona and Lucy got settled in to sleep.

Avery used her Sight.  It made it easier to see moving things, and to see the threads that tied one thing to another.

Two hours was a long time to kill, but she didn’t mind much, and while she was doing it, she imagined, it was good to get the practice in, and train this Sight of hers.

Verona was very good at the practice.  Lucy was on top of the investigation.  Avery knew she didn’t have a lot going for her.  So she’d do her best at this, at the very least.

◬

Avery was woken by a shake.  Her first thought was alarm, that she’d fallen asleep while on watch.  But she was further inside the tent.  She’d swapped places with Verona, who now was beside her, already waking up and pulling on pants again.

She could smell food.

Avery was in full zombie mode as she got up and got ready to leave the tent.  She made her way to the bench and accepted the offered food, giving it a long, hard look with her Sight before digging in.  She wasn’t even sure what she’d See if there was anything strange in there.

“Can I see your hat, before we get going?” Edith asked.

Avery had placed it with her main bag, and that was just through the tent flap.  Plate still in her lap, still chewing, she leaned back until she had to put a hand on the ground to keep from toppling back, reached through the flap with the fork, and managed to hook her hat.  She got it close enough to grab it, then sat up again.

She gave it a once-over, noting the diagram they’d put on it before leaving.  The wide brim was useful in a way, because it provided a lot of drawing area.

The idea of this particular bit of chalk-drawing, like the one on Lucy’s hat and Verona’s hat, was not to work on spirits, but to work on the bands she could see with the Sight.  Every relationship between a person and a person, place, or thing had a band or a ‘connection’.

The main drawing on the brim served to temporarily sever the connection between her and her home.

“It’s faded,” Edith observed.  “We should redraw it.”

“Okay.”

“There may be a rebound, especially if they’re the type who would have called.  Expect to get an awkward phone call the moment I wipe this off to put something new down.  Try not to panic, don’t lie, just keep the conversation going until I finish redrawing it.  Once it’s done, try to end the conversation.”

“My parents wouldn’t call, I don’t think,” Avery said.

“I’m sorry,” Matthew said.

“It’s faded, meaning there’s been some resistance,” Edith said.

“I really don’t think they’d call,” Avery insisted.

Matthew gave Edith a look.  He was still cooking.  Pancakes and bacon in the same pan.  Avery’s dad was the type who really hated that, because he’d say the bacon would taste like pancakes and the pancakes like bacon.  As far as Avery was concerned, it was all the same in the end.

“Even if they don’t love you, they might feel like they should call.”

“Nah.  My parents love me.  They’re great.  They’re just busy and distracted.  My grandfather might ask about me, though.”

“That could be it.  If he’d ask, miss you, or wonder how you’re doing, and that’s being blocked.”

“Feels a bit lonely,” Avery said.

“It is, a bit.”

“My dad never calls when I’m at Luce’s,” Verona said.  “It’s early Saturday so… he’s probably working, and he might even be glad he doesn’t have to bother with me.”

“Ronnie comes over most weekends,” Lucy said. She was prodding at her hair, which had gotten squished in the night, “If you wanted to start coming over whenever, that’s cool too, Ave.”

“Thanks,” Avery said, smiling.

“Were you comfortable last night?”

“I wasn’t cold, if that’s what you mean,” Lucy said.  “Not sure about the others.”

“No issues,” Avery said.

“First time ever that I’ve been camping.  Was neat,” Verona said.

“Good,” Edith said.  She smiled, and there was a bit of warmth in her eyes that had nothing to do with the spirit of candles and fire inside her.

The smoke and the sleeping outdoors had made Avery bleary-eyed, and she was frankly happy to keep a blanket around her, fill her belly, and then do what was necessary to get packed up, conserving all energy and staying half asleep throughout.

The tents were dismantled, their stuff gathered.  They got into the open back of the pick-up truck again, secure from the attentions of any police by the same connection-blocking practice that kept their parents from calling to check in and finding that their daughters had skipped town.

At the last second, Lucy knocked, asking them to stop.  She hopped down from the back, ran over to the office where they’d gone to pay for the spot at the campsite, and went to the vending machine there.  She made her way back, climbed in, and handed Verona and Avery a chocolate bar each.

Verona laughed.  “Is this because of what I said yesterday?”

“I don’t want you to make stupid oaths like that again.  Promise.”

“I’ll be more careful,” Verona told Lucy.

“Why do I get one?” Avery asked.

“Because you’re not a pain in my ass.”

The truck rumbled back into motion.  They resumed their journey.

“Got some stuff for you, Lucy,” Avery said, doing what she could to get settled.

“Let me get my notebook.  What stuff?”

“The farther we get from Kennet, the happier Edith seems.  Not getting that vibe I was before.”

“That’s good,” Lucy said.  “Might have something to do with her being a spirit.”

“We should write down the stuff about her background.  And what Matthew said.”

“And Charles,” Verona offered.

“Help me remember,” Lucy said.  “Be really, really sure, speak up if you have any doubts about any piece of information…”

◬

A knock at the window disturbed Avery’s read of the book she’d grabbed from the last rest stop.  She sat up, and she twisted around.  When she couldn’t see through the truck window and out the windshield, she stood, taking hold of the rack at the top of the pickup to stay balanced, in case the truck started moving all of a sudden.

The sun was setting, and the sky was red.  The trees were thick here, and the road was dirt.

At the top of the hill at the far end of the road, there was an animal that could have been a stray dog or coyote.  Too small and long-legged to be a wolf.  It looked like it had been hit by a car.  It was injured.

“Aw!” Avery exclaimed.  “Poor thing.”

“This is it,” Matthew spoke through the open window, as he turned off the engine.  “The cue we’re supposed to follow.”

He opened his door.  He, Edith, and Charles climbed out.

Avery and her friends climbed out.  Her hands were gross from not having showered and the dust that had gotten on them.  They’d put down more signs on the plastic lining at the rear of the truck, warding off the dust, but just the grit that had already gotten in there was bad enough, when she wasn’t in a position to wipe it off.

They ventured forward, and the bloodied animal slinked into the trees.

Matthew explained, “The only people liable to follow a random animal are those with nowhere to go, or people who know what the animal is about and want to find the Carmine Beast.  Essentially, the only people the Carmine beast wants at its doorstep in the first place.”

“What kind of people does it want?”

“Hunters and the hunted,” Charles said.

Following the animal wasn’t easy, but it was bleeding, and the blood trail helped.

Until it didn’t.

There were more places here where blood had stained the ground or painted green leaves, grass, weeds, and moss with crimson.  Blood in the traces of snow that spring hadn’t yet erased.  Blood in soil, in sand, in what might have been peat.

Until there was more bloody ground than ground without blood.

“It says a lot that the animal we’re following is injured,” Matthew observed.  “Our witness described following a giant canine, it was howling in pain and mourning, and it was injured.”

Avery spoke up, “So the Carmine Beast was a beast?  I know that’s a dumb question, maybe, but-”

“Not a dumb question,” Edith said.  “Its shape is variable.  Many spirits are similar, though complex spirits like myself tend to be firmer, either because we’re too knit-together, or we can’t afford to change because we’re that weak.”

“It’s a spirit, then?”

“It’s more than a spirit.  By taking on this role, it is elevated.”

“A god?” Verona asked.  “Or a lesser god?”

“A role,” Matthew said.

He pushed past some foliage, and held branches out of the way for Edith and the girls.

Past those branches was a bit of a cliff, and then a clearing.

In that clearing, the ground was so blood-soaked, so much more red than anything Avery had seen, that the leaves couldn’t hold color, and were whiter than snow.  Trees were cast in blacks and greys, and moisture, where it appeared, beaded crimson and thick.

Bones had been dragged to a central location, and the bones had formed an arrangement, crushed or pushed into place by a weight and framing that Avery instinctively knew.

That something belonged here, in that nest of bones, and it was absent.  There were animals here, all carnivores, but they were listless, bowed.  Lacking.  Again, they were missing something.  She could feel the absence like a weight on her chest.

A throne without its Queen.  Servants without a master.

She understood now why they’d needed to come and see this.  To understand the magnitude of what they were trying to fix.

A sharp growling behind her made her jump and skip forward a solid three steps.

Other animals had crept in through the bone-white foliage.  They continued to growl, advancing.

“Charles Abrams,” a woman said.

“I know,” Charles said.

“There is no shelter for you here,” the woman said.  “No quest, no passage, no currency.”

“I know,” he said.

“Charles is forsworn.  He gets no court or audience,” Edith murmured.

There were Others present.  Others who passed through the trees without needing to bend for branches or get out of the way.

“Court?  Do we bow?” Verona asked, quiet.

“No,” Matthew said.  “No need.  That’s a human custom.”

Avery pulled off her hat, and held it to her chest, all the same.

One woman, dressed in white furs.  A man in a black suit.  And off to the side, sitting atop the head of a centipede, an older teen or younger adult with long hair and flowing clothes in gold.

“In many places around the world,” Matthew explained, his voice low.  Their group parted as the three Others made their way past them and deeper into the clearing.  “There are totems, fixtures, or assumptive forces.  In one part of Asia, I’m not learned enough to place it exactly, you might have the Azure Dragon, the Vermilion Bird, the White Tiger and the Black Tortoise.  In some places, it’s only one.  Often, their role is similar.”

“We have four, here?” Lucy asked.

“Three, at present.”

“You’re not the first to come here,” the woman in white said.

“I know,” Matthew said.  “We inducted some new practitioners.  There’s no Lord in our area, so we thought we’d make introductions.  Let them see the Carmine Beast’s domain, and get a sense of what they’re doing.”

“Who came before?” Lucy asked, twisting around.

“Other practitioners from near Kennet.  The ones who would be investigating if we didn’t bring someone in,” Matthew said.

“They know very little,” the man in the flowing gold robe said.  He still sat cross-legged on the centipede’s head.

“They’re fast learners.”

“Can they bring her back to us?  Or name the culprit?” the one in black asked.

“We’re going to try,” Lucy said.  “Can we ask questions?”

“Ask,” the woman in white said.

“What are you, what is this?”

“When the practitioners of an area organize to a sufficient degree, they tend to put Lords in place.  Others or Practitioners strong enough to oversee an area, mete out judgment, and deal with problems.  But not all areas have these things,” the man in the black suit explained.

“For other areas, there is a hierarchy.  The Others self-organize, they handle threats, they keep things in balance,” the man in gold told them.  “But sometimes, it’s not enough, or there’s nobody and nothing suitable to fill a role.  If something needs to be laid to rest and there is no Death nearby…”

He indicated the man in the black suit, who said, “I might step in to handle duties.”

“You’re a higher authority?” Lucy asked.

The man in the black suit answered, “A court of appeals, a final stop, or very rarely, a first stop, when a problem needs handling, a specific individual may find their way to us for a first meeting.  People on the most desperate of quests, those seeking answers, those seeking shelter, and people needing salvation… they often find their way to us when they’ve exhausted every last option.  Each of us take on a different role and share of the duties.”

“I suppose if we say no, they could pray to gods, for all the good that often does,” the man in gold said, smiling wide enough it looked like his face could crack in two.

“The Carmine Beast was one of you?” Verona asked.

“She was.”

“What was her role?” Lucy asked.

“She handled monsters and those who kill monsters,” the woman in white said.  “She handled matters of war and murder, carnage, blood, and execution.  Justice, in its bloodiest form.”

“Was…” Avery started.  She was suddenly very aware it could be a rude question, considering these things were like the Carmine Beast’s family.  She decided to ask anyway, because the question would bother her.  “…was she evil?”

“She was too fundamental a thing to call good or evil.  But she did not have many friends.”

This was a little too much.  This felt too big.

It was starting to dawn on Avery that the reason Matthew had said they didn’t have to solve this was because it was far more immense than the three of them could hope to wrap their heads around.

“I don’t mean to offend, but I’m going to be blunt,” Lucy said.  “Do you know anything relevant?”

The man in the black suit and dress shirt answered, “We know very little.  It only recently came to our attention.  I suspect we don’t know much more than you.”

“Do the others agree?”

“Agreed,” the woman in white furs said, at the same time the man in gold said, “Yes.”

“Did you have any part in this?”

“None.”

“No.”

“No.”

“How strong would you have to be to kill her, or make her vanish like this?” Lucy asked.

“To give an idea of the scale and difficulty, could you end all violence in one area of one Canadian province?” the man in gold asked.  “Even for a short while?”

“It’s more about having the right information and leverage than having the strength… though strength certainly wouldn’t hurt,” the woman in white said.

“Why would someone hurt her?  Because she didn’t have many friends?” Lucy asked.

“She didn’t, but you could look at it as the vacating of a position.  There’s a power in taking someone from that seat, and there’s a power in the seat.  Right now, the seat is empty, and it must be filled.  By filling it, one Other or Practitioner will take on the responsibility and the power that comes with it.”

“It’s like the supreme court, then?” Avery asked.  “Once you’ve worked your way through all the lower courts, if the case is compelling, you end up here?”

“As you say.”

“And by taking the role, they get that final say.  They get to make the laws, essentially?”

“More or less,” the woman in white furs said.

“Are there any limitations on the kind of person or Other?”

“They’d need to fit the role, to a certain degree.  The role would then mold itself to them and they’d be molded in turn.”

“Has anyone applied?”

“Nobody has stepped forward.  This isn’t surprising.  If one declared themselves for the seat and the role as the next Carmine Beast, there would be a brief period they could be cut down or supplanted.  It is easier, especially among the murderous and dangerous types that would take this role, to let someone else make the first move.  We may be forced to select someone, which would make them vulnerable, force them to prove themselves.”

“And who are the candidates?” Verona asked.

“You know them because they are in Kennet.  The first is John Stiles, who is not especially strong, but we think he would serve with a mind to balance, making him our preference.  The other is your Hungry Choir.”

“And how would they serve?” Avery asked.

“We have discussed it and concluded they’d serve in a disastrous fashion, with an uneven hand,” the man in the black suit said.  “Their reign is likely, because they are strong, and it’s likely to be short.  We’ll adapt, whatever happens.”

I guess we know who we’re talking to next.  Two suspects with something to gain.  Others who could be the next Carmine Beast.

Avery (again)

Their travel plans hadn’t allowed much leeway.  From six in the evening on Friday to six in the evening on Saturday.  Then they’d left at about eight in the evening on Saturday.  Shorter stop for the night, more pressure on the gas, and now they were back at Kennet, the sun yet to set, making it… maybe five o’clock?  Five thirty?

Lucy had exhausted herself of questions, and Verona was reading the book Avery had finished last night.

It was hard to shine when the other two were so good at their own things.  Hard to stand out, hard to be anything but the third wheel.  She was practicing with her Sight, which made the scenery more interesting, at least, but she felt a kind of anxiety as they got closer to home.  She didn’t want to end this trip feeling this useless.

If patterns were as important as Verona had been saying, then she didn’t want this to be her pattern.

She didn’t want to ask Verona or Lucy, because she felt like asking them would put her back in the second or third place position again.  But then the next person was… Charles.  If she turned her head and peered through the dirty window, she could see the back of his head.

Reluctantly, she knocked on the window.  Both Lucy and Verona turned their heads.

Charles opened it.  “Need something?”

“Can I ask some questions before we get where we’re going?”

“It’s why I’m here.  Just ask.  You don’t have to ask permission first.”

“Um, okay,” she said.  His tone had been stern enough she could feel her brain momentarily freeze up.

She hadn’t really dealt with jerks before last September, siblings excepted.  This wasn’t a sibling vibe, and she didn’t know how to handle it.

“Did you decide on your questions before asking?” he pressured her.

“Um,” she said, before clearing her throat.  “What would you do if you were us?”

“That’s at least one hell of a question.  If I were you, I wouldn’t have done the ritual.  Wouldn’t have gotten stuck in all of this.”

“But we did,” Lucy said.

“But you did,” Charles said.  “It’s done.  You’re stuck in it.”

“Then… can you help us?  Tell us what to watch for?  The people at the ritual can’t hurt us, right?”

“No.”

“There’s no way of cheating it?  No way around that?”

“There are ways around it.  Not participating in the ritual.  Faerie are tricky.  Maricica could, for example, send an effigy to participate.”

“Effigy.”

“Or an illusion, or a doll, or something false.”

“Would, um, the big guy, Guil…”

“Guilherme.  He’s not the trickster type, he’s a warrior, but when it comes to the Fae, you can assume that if they aren’t obvious tricksters, that will make the moments they do pull the rug out from under you all the more dramatic.  I wouldn’t rule anything out with either of them.”

“And if someone didn’t participate fully in the ritual?” Avery asked.

“Why?” Charles asked, and his voice was harder.  He twisted around to stare at her.  “Did you see something?”

“I don’t know,” she said.  “I’m trying to figure this out.  Um.  Lucy’s really good at the investigation and moving forward stuff.  Verona’s really good at the practice already, I think.  I thought maybe I could play defense.”

He made her nervous, and she hated to admit it, because she hated to be judgmental of anyone, but he really did smell, especially after two days in the truck.

“Defense.  Matthew was saying you played hockey, earlier.  Was that your role?  Goalie, or defense?”

They’re talking about us in the same way we’re discussing and dissecting them.

“No, not at all,” Avery said.  “Forward.  I’m fast and I’ve got endurance.”

“Hm.  I won’t say you’re wrong to be defensively-minded.  If the most reckless of you was being as careful as you’re being now, and the most thoughtful was spending hours poring over every sentence, then…”

“We’d be okay?” Avery asked.

“No.”  Charles sounded exasperated.  “No, child.  Some of the forces you’re now dealing with have been figuring out and perfecting means of attack, deception, and manipulation since a time before man wore shoes, and the stakes are your very mortality, your Self, your future.  When the stakes are that high, you don’t sit down to a game of chess with someone that’s been playing since before you were born.”

“Oh.”

“We shouldn’t sit down to a game of chess with those guys, you mean,” Verona said.

“Don’t can mean should not.  But you’re right, I should be more precise, especially when instructing you.  I’m out of practice since losing my practice.”

“What hurts us?  If the Others from town can’t touch us, what’s the risk we should be worried about?” Avery asked.

“Off the top of my head?  You, yourselves.  Lucy’s statement to ensure your long and full life was a good one.  It’s open ended enough that they should be encouraged to steer you away from your own ruin.  Without that rule, the danger would be that they would let you destroy yourselves, the moment you became inconvenient or got close to them.  There are too many stories out there of people who are given a gift with a warning, and the warning is of course defied.”

“We should make a deal then,” Avery said.  She looked at her friends.  “What if we agreed to not practice unless at least one other person agreed?”

“Uh, no,” Verona said, at the same time Charles said, “No.”

“Why not?” Avery asked.

“Because then all your enemies must do is separate you.”

“Nothing major, then?” Avery asked.  “Nothing that would change us or nothing big?  We could ask when getting practices and powers, what’s minor and what’s major, and make rules about anything major.”

“Not keen,” Verona said.  She put down the book Avery had given her.

“Why?” Lucy asked.

“Because life before this sucked enough with the rules, expectations, the structure, the other garbage.  So much of that crap that I couldn’t and still can’t really see any point in enduring it all.  I’m pretty sure I don’t know one adult who I can definitively say is actually content and secure and happy with where they are in life.  So why?  Why am I sitting through class every weekday, doing chores, and stuff?  So I can become a teenager and get a car I can’t afford, with a part time job I’m going to hate?  To get work experience that’ll let me get a slightly better job later, and buy a house that I’ll have to upkeep?”

“This is different,” Lucy said.

“It is!  But I feel like if we’re making deals to limit ourselves and structure all of this, we’re going to make this into that.”

“We’d be making these rules to keep ourselves safe,” Avery said.

“Those rules about going to school, doing chores, or paying bills are to keep us all healthy and safe, or because there are other reasons.  And I bet the people who enforced them thought they were important and good.  But they add up to a system I find very depressing to think about.”

“I think my parents and Ms. Hardy are happy,” Avery said.

“No offense, Avery, I don’t want to dump on the people you obviously care about, but I’m more likely to think they’re doing a good job of hiding how unhappy they are, than that they’re really, genuinely happy.”

“Maybe,” Avery said.  “I hope you’re wrong.”

“Look,” Lucy said.  “Is this really that big a problem?  Can you focus on what exactly is wrong with the rule?  Because Avery’s wanting to have input and we’re going to be doing this with her for a long time.  This is her suggestion and I don’t want to shut her out.”

“It’s not the rule, exactly.  That seems okay, but… it’s the first step on a road I don’t want to go down.  Already we need to have our hat, mask, and-or scarf with us.  Then we need to have partners for the major stuff.  Then what?”

“Then if there’s anything else, we discuss it.”

“Can we think on it?” Verona asked.  “No hasty deals, remember?  We’ll put it down on paper or exchange emails, and think of loopholes or possible traps?”

Lucy looked at Avery, who nodded.

“Okay,” Avery said.  “Sorry, Charles.”

“Don’t be.  I was thinking about what else might qualify.  They promised no willful harm.  That raises the question, then, what harm can they do when they don’t will it?”

“Is there stuff like that?” Avery asked.

“I wouldn’t rule it out.  Dealing with goblins, for example, may make you a worse person by the regular association.  Our goblins are mild, at least.”

“Sir Toadswallow stuck his hand down the back of his pants to collect his own crap,” Lucy protested.

“That’s mild.  There are other kinds of taint or change.  I don’t think there are any Others in Kennet who would taint you that badly.  Matthew, perhaps, if he loosened the bindings on the Doom he’s keeping caged inside himself.”

“Good to know,” Lucy said.  She had her notebook out and was taking more notes.

“You could ask, then, what Others might be a danger, if they revert to instinct.  That wouldn’t be willful.”

“Which are?” Avery asked.

“Most.  Even Edith comes from a place of pain and fire.  Put into the wrong situation, the human side of her weakened, she could harm you and it wouldn’t violate the oath.”

“And because she’s not an outsider…”

“The collective promise to protect you from outsiders wouldn’t force Others to intervene.”

“Can we handle that?” Lucy asked.  “Force Others to clarify the pact, agree to help, or… whatever?”

“Yes.  But keep in mind, Others may not like being constricted by a closing net of restrictions any more than your Verona does.”

“Good to know,” Lucy said.  “Case by case basis, maybe.”

“Be careful.  Even the suggestion of it may turn a good working relationship into a hostile one.”

“Is there stuff we can read about this?” Avery asked.  “You said you had books.”

“Had.  Past tense.  I can’t practice, and like what happened with my once-friend the Augur, having books or materials makes me a target for people who want those things.  I gave them and traded them away.  Matthew has a few.”

“I’ll see about digging them up,” Matthew said, from the front seat.  “I was looking for specific things about my specific dynamic, and once I verified there wasn’t anything useful, I put them away.  A few might be in a box in my basement with some ritual supplies and Christmas decorations.”

“That’s great,” Verona chimed in.

Was that sarcasm?  Or was it true?  If Avery had to ask, did it matter?

She wasn’t even a sarcastic person, and she was going to miss sarcasm.  It was very interesting if Verona could make it work, because that meant Avery could too.  Charles, at least, wasn’t saying anything.

Lucy was still taking the notes.  Without looking up, she said, “I’ve been thinking about things in terms of the order we need to conduct the interviews, but we’re not just conducting interviews, right?  We’re gathering power.  Tools.”

“I’ve kind of been saying that from the start,” Verona said.

Lucy nodded, her hair bobbing out of sync behind her.  With Avery’s sight, the hair was pink at the ends, and Lucy’s eyes were a rosy brown.  Lucy twisted around, to face the window.  “Charles, if we’re worried about someone or something losing control and being able to hurt us… who or where would we go to get something to protect ourselves?”

Charles sighed.  “The best defense is running away, avoiding that fight in the first place.”

“You made it sound like a bad situation was unavoidable,” Avery said.

“I might’ve, but it might be better to say that a bad situation is inevitable, unless you stop.  If and when that happens, the tragic outcome might be what’s unavoidable.”

“Let’s assume something or someone’s going to pick a fight with us,” Lucy said.  “Who do we go to about self defense or getting what we need to stop them?”

They’d made their way down the winding road and they were into the upper portion of Kennet now.  There was a fair amount of traffic at this hour and time of the week.  The highway cut through the town, and the upper end of town had a ton of fast food places and rest stops for people to pull off or go to the bathroom.  A lot of the signs were crummy or had unlit letters, but the fast food places and other franchises at least had head offices ensuring that they were keeping everything top notch.

Avery looked at it with the Sight.  She could see the distinction, now that she’d been gone and come back.  The handprints and footprints that her Sight painted on everything were keeping this place in good shape, but an awful lot of them were bloody.

The bands that connected things were touched with blood here and there too.

Now she had another question, but the others were talking.

“…would suggest John,” Charles said.  “He’s a fighter.  Goblins if you want to hurt something, but that’s… again, practice is political as much as it’s anything.  Something like Munch from downtown might give you a win, but you hurt yourself in the long term.”

“And which Others are most likely to lose control and hurt us?”

“John,” Charles said, again.

Verona laughed.  “That’s, uhhhh…”

“We want to talk to him soon anyway,” Avery said, pushing her way back into the conversation.  As they got closer to their destination, she felt more and more like she wanted to do her share, or make her contribution.  “What do we need to know?”

“He’s easy to find.  He lives in the burned out house at the southeast of town.  At the intersection of Lily and Henry.  He’s a good man, but… avoid sudden moves.  Don’t push him, and avoid all signs of violence.”

“Like a big, scary dog,” Avery said.

“Essentially.”

“What is he?”

“He’s a Dog of War, known in some circles as Dog Tags.  I think his name is an older equivalent to John Doe, but for soldiers.  When warzones are at their ugliest and most chaotic, and people start losing track of who is where, who is alive and who is dead, certain Others may crop up on the battlefields.  Ones that fight, so long as there is conflict around them.  If the soldiers in that war are killing innocents, so will the Dogs of War.  If they commit other atrocities, so will the Dogs.  They don’t sleep, they keep the battle going, and as long as the battle continues, they don’t stay down.  Related to Revenants, but Revenants are the province of Death, not War.”

“Did he- does he commit atrocities?” Avery asked.

“I don’t think so,” Charles said.  “But he came with a friend, and the friend suggests things, because of what she was.”

“Clarify that for us?” Avery asked.

“I don’t know much.  She was gone before I was a practitioner, and she’s a touchy subject for him.  Dogs of War have a multitude of subcategories and varieties.  Labels are rarely tidy, and Dogs of War are something that emerges naturally, for lack of a better way of putting it.  Dog Meat emerge from multiple killings at the hands of serial killers or more violent goblins, Hang Dogs from lynchings and hate, Blast Dogs from areas that have been traumatized, and Sick, Famine, and Black Dogs are rare ones from the more vulnerable innocents killed in those crises, usually the leaders or guides for collected packs and combinations of Dogs of War.”

Avery looked out over the congested traffic.  People were lining up to pass through the fast food drive throughs, with lines extending out onto the road.  It meant that traffic was reduced to one lane at places, and that traffic was stop-and-go.

The world felt so much bigger and more intimidating than it had last Thursday.

“Are there a lot of these things out there?” Verona asked.

“By their nature and where they come from, they’re hard to count.  All it takes is that the dead pile up in the midst of greater conflict and violence, people start becoming statistics instead of names, and the numbers stop adding up.  John’s companion was a Sick Dog type.  It looked like any child you could find on a warzone.  He smuggled it here, it took care of him, he took care of it.  But by its nature, it spread sickness and tainted everything around it with malaise.  It had to be dealt with.  John decided to do it himself.  Before my time here.”

“Dealt with?”

“He executed his companion.  I think that might be why the Alabaster, Sable, and Aurum liked him for the role.  He does what’s necessary.”

“You were listening in?”

“Matthew recapped for me.”

“Okay, so… just so we know, how do you deal with a Dog of War or any of its variants?” Verona asked.

“By putting a bullet in them, or some other means of execution, after cutting them off from their power source.”

“How do you cut them off?”

“Draw a circle around them.  I can teach you the basics of binding Others at a later date.  With John, don’t bother trying.  The act of finishing the drawing of the circle gets harder the greater the source of power is.  His source of power is a big, long-running conflict with no sign of ending, even if Canada pulled out six years ago.  Like a large body of water with a narrow hole feeding out the bottom to this particular output, the pressure is immense and the stream violent.  You’re not positioned to put that conflict to rest and you’re not equipped to close a circle.”

“We might have other options if we can figure that out, if it comes to that,” Lucy said.  “Was he upset?  After killing his friend?”

“John has two modes.  Hurry up and wait, and opening fire.  He hasn’t opened fire yet, and it’s been a decade.”

They’d hit the residential area now.  They weren’t far from being dropped off.

“What about the Hungry Choir?” Avery asked.  “Are they something we can use to protect ourselves?  I’m thinking of the knives that appeared in the ritual, and they seem to be a common thread.”

“They aren’t.  Too unpredictable, you can’t communicate with them, and by their very nature, they tend to bite the hand that feeds.  They’re not servants, summons, or assistants I would have wanted as a practitioner.”

“What is their nature?” Verona asked.

“Ritual Incarnate,” Lucy said.  Her phone rang, startling her.  “Sorry.  It’s my parents.  Crap.”

Verona grabbed her hat, which was in her lap, flipping it over.  The chalk diagram to break connections had worn out to the point they were almost gone.  “Our connection breaking stuff ended.  Because we drove through a populated area, and a lot of people would notice kids riding in the back of a truck.”

Lucy motioned for Verona to shush, putting the phone to her ear.

Verona twisted around, and pushed past Avery to get to the window.  She spoke into the window so she wouldn’t be too loud for Lucy.  “My house is a block away. Stop?”

Matthew pulled over.

“Yes, no, I figured I’d reheat something if you hadn’t cooked,” Lucy said.  “Less than five minutes.  Okay, cool.  Thanks.”

Verona hopped out of the car, and Avery handed down the bags.

Verona leaned in closer, all wide-eyed, hair messy from not having showered or brushed it.  It suited her, honestly.  In Avery’s Sight, Verona’s eyes were bright with a purple tint that wasn’t reflecting anything nearby.  Was that because Verona was using the Sight too?  “Get the rest of the info and fill me in later?  Or fill in Lucy and I’ll read her notes?”

Avery nodded.

“Thanks,” Verona said.  She turned to look in the direction of her house.  “Sucks to go back home.  I kinda hoped I wouldn’t have to, but I guess that doesn’t make sense, huh?”

“I guess,” Avery said, not sure what to say.

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” Verona said, before quickly adding, “Probably.”

“Later,” Avery said.

Verona started to leave, then turned.  “I’m glad you stuck with it.  Thanks for the book.  Let me know if you want it back.”

“Nah,” Avery said, a little caught off guard.  She raised a hand as Verona ran off.  The truck started up again as Avery settled back into her ‘seat’.

“What were we talking about?” Avery asked.

“Ritual Incarnates,” Lucy said.  She’d finished her call.

“There are ways you can ask to play chess with Death,” Charles launched right into it.  “Or one Death.  War, Innocence, Pain, Hope, Mischief… all are forces that can take form in this world, you can meet them, you can deal with them.  They’re more solid and tied into things than a spirit, which influences, or an elemental that impacts the physical and natural world.  Incarnations represent particular human realities.  When these incarnations want to spread their influence, sometimes they set things in motion.  On the rare occasion, they happen naturally or by accident.  All we know about the Hungry Choir is that they arose somewhere else and they’ve settled here, at least for a little while.  Perhaps some locals are tied up in it.  The Other you call Miss could tell you more.”

“What is it?” Avery asked.  “Like, what did these Incarnations or accidents set in motion?”

“An Incarnation of Poverty might try to spread poverty.  Sometimes that would be with a cursed item; innocents handle it, they ignore the warnings printed on the item or shared by the seller, they lose their earthly belongings and fortunes, they die or suffer a dark fate, the item gets passed on, having strengthened Poverty, until someone figures out a way to deal with it.  Other times, it’s a ritual that finds its way to people’s hands.  In this modern era, when urban legends can gain traction and the internet is a thing, it’s getting more and more common.”

“But they’re not practitioners?” Avery asked.

“This is my house!”  Lucy knocked on the window.  Matthew pulled over again.

Lucy made no motion to get up, still listening.  In the background, Matthew turned off the engine, turning around to look and listen as Charles talked.

“No, they’re not practitioners.  And that’s the gamble, of sorts.  Will the ritual pull in enough to be worth the cost of inducting an innocent?  If the ritual brings in enough poverty, for example, or brings in enough other people who fail, it may be worth paying the penalty or assuming the karmic responsibility.  But if the people participating thrive, succeed, and ‘beat’ the ritual, it’s costly.”

“Beat?” Lucy asked.

“Often, the karmic cost of bringing in innocents is tempered.  If it’s just, if someone must opt in, and if there’s a possible way out, it’s less costly.  Remember what I said earlier about the warning given with full expectation that the warning would be ignored?  One such example.  The Ritual Incarnate may be a game, or a pattern people willingly participate in, with enough traps or enough of an uphill climb that failing at the game is expected, and they may be difficult enough that by the time the participant is done, they are no longer capital-I Innocent, or even no longer human.  These things tend to end when enough people get the hang of it.”

“The Hungry Choir is strong, so… nobody’s figured out how to beat it?”

“Not consistently.  I’ve heard about one where a notebook described how to find the location of a tunnel entrance, which regularly moved.  An Incarnate Ritual of Time.  Going through the winding tunnels would take the participants back in time.  They could alter their pasts, but while in the past, they had to arrange events so a specific scene would come to pass at a specific point in time, years in the future, as depicted on a mural along the way.  They got three tries and if they failed to replicate the scene, they were unwound from Time altogether.  The notebook was mass produced, some practitioners in the States got ahead of it, and used their expertise to beat it enough times it ran out of steam.  In another case, an Incarnate Ritual of Envy, participants could log into a website, and would join as a group, engaging in a game of several rounds of swapping minds with bodies among members of the group, similar to musical chairs.”

“What happened when a chair was taken away?”

“I don’t know.  The easiest and most obvious answer would be that that specific mind and body pairing were snuffed out.”

“Do they all end horribly?” Avery asked.

“They tend to, but typically, there’s incentive to win, a reward for the winner, that draws specific kinds of candidate into the ritual,” Charles said.  “Be careful with the Hungry Choir.  Have some protection if you’re getting close.”

Lucy got to a standing position, moving her bags to the side.  Avery stood as well, ready to help.

Avery gave Lucy her bags.  “I’ll catch you up on any other info, after.”

“You did good this weekend, Ave.”

Avery wanted to protest, but she worried calling Lucy out on being a liar would hurt them both.  She shrugged instead.  “You too.”

“We’ll talk soon,” Lucy said, giving the side of the truck a pat.

“Sure.”

Lucy lifted up her bags and cut cross-wise through someone’s lawn to head to her house.

“Remind me where you live?” Matthew called back.

“Over the bridge, turn right.”

“Got it.”

It felt weird and worse, being in the back of this truck with the strangers in the front, nobody at her side now.

“Any more questions?” Charles asked.

The way she was sitting, her back was almost to his, separated by the back of the truck cab, his seat, and her bags that she was using as a back-cushion.

“How do we talk to the Choir?  We have the location for John Stiles, but…”

“You don’t.  You can’t.  But ask Miss.  She may be able to point you in the right direction.  Prepare first, or better yet, skip them.”

“Skip them?”

“They can hurt you,” Charles said.  “They’re a small, localized hurricane, except instead of wind and flying debris, they’re patterns and rules.  Don’t get mired in it.”

“Alright,” she said.  “Thanks for the advice.  I do mean that.”

The car reached her house and passed it.  She told Matthew to park.

“What you said about being fast?” Charles ventured, as she picked up her bags.

“Yeah?  Fast and high-endurance.”

“If those parts of you on the rink are you, your capital-s Self, play into that.  Pursue that.”

“I’ll think about that, and how to make it work.”

“Careful,” he said.  As it got quieter, his voice took on a crackle that reminded her of her grandfather.  “I’m karmically ruined.  It makes it easier to ignore my advice, so don’t tell me you’ll think about it unless you will.”

“I will,” she said, as much to nail down the idea for her own benefit as it was for him.  “Thanks Charles.  Thanks Matthew.  Thanks Edith.”

She grabbed her bags and hopped down, the added weight adding more crunch as her running shoes hit the grit, salt, and gravel that had been deposited at the road’s edge, yet to be fully washed away.

Three cars in the driveway.  Reason enough to believe everyone was home.  The garden had been watered and a puddle had yet to dry out by the spray-hose, which had been left draped down the length of the road.  Someone was earning the bonus chore money, it seemed.  From the fact it hadn’t been picked up after, a good one dollar deduction, she was guessing Sheridan or Declan.

She let herself in, squeezing in past the screen door to the front door, with a bag slung over one shoulder and another at her back.

“Grumble, do you mind if I take the Ion!?”

The answer was unintelligible.

“It’s so cute you call him Grumble,” Laurie said.  The woman, twenty, slim and dark haired, was already standing in the front hall.  Laurie reached in to hold the screen door and let Avery squeeze through.  Avery ducked her head down, feeling heat at her face as she had to pass in such close proximity to the woman.  It wasn’t that her brother’s girlfriend was her type, but Avery’s height put her head at the same level as Laurie’s chest, which meant she had to work to not headbutt her, and she was very cognizant of the smell of her shampoo and the fact she was wearing a low-cut top.  If she’d had any warning, it would have been fine, but it was a lot to suddenly find at eye level, and she was very aware she hadn’t showered.

“Thank you.”

“Hey, skates,” Rowan said, touching Avery’s head.  He was tall, skinny as a rail, with freckles, with an actually nice haircut, which Avery kind of envied.  “Good weekend?”

“S’alright,” she mumbled, still a bit flushed.  “Going out?”

“Date, yeah.”

“Rowan,” Avery’s dad said, “can you wait two minutes to let me write up a list?  I’ll give you money, you can grab stuff on the way home.”

“Aw, dad, that’s really not the direction we’re going, and your two minutes is closer to ten minutes in reality.”

“Two minutes, I promise.  You can keep the change for gas money.”

“Avery!” Kerry exclaimed, voice high.  The six year old threw herself at Avery, latching onto the gym bag and nearly pulling Avery off balance.

“Ow, let go.  Let go!”

She pried Kerry’s fingers off and twisted away, doing a half-step to avoid whacking Laurie in the knees with the bag as she turned. She hurried to the stairs, where she had to twist to let Declan by as he hurried down the stairs.

“Avery!” her mom called from the downstairs kitchen.  “Can we touch base!?”

“Yeah!  Give me a minute!”

“Have you eaten!?”

“Not since lunch!”

“Can we touch base!?”

“I said give me a minute!”

She made her way upstairs, and had to stop at the door to her room.  Sheridan was exiting as she entered, and looked very aggrieved at the minor inconvenience at having to wait for Avery to step aside and let her pass.  Wearing pyjama pants and an oversized shirt even though it wasn’t nighttime yet, running a brush through black hair -the only person in Avery’s family without red hair besides grandpa- Sheridan strode to the stairs, tossing her brush onto the bathroom counter as she passed it.  Sixteen year olds.

“Don’t leave that stuff in the way!” Sheridan called out, from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah.”

“You leave your gym stuff around all the time.”

“Stop stressing out!”

“Laurie!” Sheridan called down.  “Hey, where are you guys going out-”

Avery deposited her bags on her bunk. She rolled her shoulder where the strap had been digging into it, especially with Kerry hanging on, and she heaved out a sigh.  The bunkbed was relatively new.  Declan was ten, and her parents didn’t want a ten year old boy sharing a room with a six or thirteen year old girl, so they’d been sorted by gender instead.  Avery’s bed had gone to Declan, she got the top bunk, and Kerry slept below her.  Sheridan’s half of the room remained intact, on penalty of all the wrath a sixteen year old could bring down on one’s head.

“Avery!” her mom called from downstairs.  “Tout suite!  Dinner’s ready in ten!  I want to chat before then!”

She put her bags on her bed and in the closet, and made sure none of her stuff was in Sheridan’s way.  She picked up one of Kerry’s stuffed animals that she almost stepped on, a dog with a fat tongue sticking out, and situated it on her sister’s pillow, before posturing it so it was licking itself.

Kerry would laugh, probably.

Her head being down, she got in her dad’s way as he crossed the hallway.  He stopped in his tracks, hands going out to the walls so he could brace himself instead of walking into her.

“Whoop,” he said.  “Looking for a pen.”

She had one in her pocket.  She handed it over.

He bent down to kiss her on the top of her head.  “Thank you.  Good weekend?”

He was already heading downstairs.  She followed.

“I think so,” she said.

“That sounds very ambivalent.”

“Just… a lot going on.”

“No idea what that’s like,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah.”

Sheridan got out of dad’s way, but when Avery moved to get by, stuck her butt in the way.

“Did you leave your stuff on the floor?”

“I didn’t!” Avery protested.  She was annoyed she couldn’t help but sound childish, saying it.  She tried to get by, but Sheridan stuck her fat butt out.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Avery!” her mom called out.

“She’s coming,” her dad said.  “Sheridan, let your sister by.”

Sheridan obeyed, but only as long as dad was looking.  As soon as he turned away to add to the list he was writing, she moved to block.  “I thought you were a hockey player.”

Avery saw the sympathetic look that Laurie shot her, but Rowan, dad, and Kerry were all in the front hall, and she couldn’t speak without interrupting.

Avery climbed over the railing, put one foot on the top of the chair by the stairs, and stepped down onto the seat, then to the ground.  She jogged through the living room, evading Kerry’s clutches, and paused by the chair her grandfather sat in, giving him a hug.

“Heya,” he said, his voice mushy and ten times as gravely as Charles’ had been.  He’d had a stroke a long time ago and had mostly recovered, but his voice wasn’t what it had been, and his movements were sometimes limited.

“Heya Grumble.  Have a good weekend?”

“Surright, yeah,” he said.  He gave her cheek a pat with a stiff hand, the movements rough and the hand rougher.  He indicated the television, which was showing the news.  “I dunno what these guys, what they’re doing.  They’re idiots.  We’ve got idiots in charge.”

“Love you, but I gotta go talk to mom though.”

“Mercy on ya.”

“She’s not that bad,” Avery said, smiling, as she walked backwards.  “I don’t think I’m in trouble.”

“No trouble,” her mom said, overhearing the tail end.  She wiped wet hands.  “Backyard for a second?  Connor!  Can you watch the stove?”

“Yeah!  One second!” Avery’s dad called back.

“Sheridan’s not doing anything,” Avery volunteered.

“Sheridan!  Stove!” Avery’s mom called out.  “If I look back in five seconds and you’re not on it, I’m going to be ticked!”

“Yep!” was the answering call.

Avery and her mom stepped into the backyard.  Her mom shut the door, which immediately opened, six year old Kerry wanting to come outside.

“Nope, back inside,” mom said, ushering the kid in, before closing the door and standing with her back to it.  “Whoo.”

“Whoo,” Avery said.

“How are you?” her mom asked.

Avery shrugged.  “Doing okay.”

“Where were you?”

“Was hanging out with Lucy and Verona.  We slept in a tent.  Studied.  Verona made a boomerang hat.”

“Never heard of that.  I know it might not seem like it, but I miss you when you’re not around.”

“I miss you guys too.  I don’t tend to miss… all of this, though.”

“Haha.  Your mind might change when you go away to university.  Your dorm or apartment will feel very empty.”

“If.”

“When, please and thank you.”

“We’ll see.”

“I guess we will.  Plenty of time to figure it out,” mom said.  “I’m proud of you, you know.”

“Um.  Thanks?  Can I ask- what’s this?”

“This?”

Is it a screwy connection thing?  A rebound from the connection breaking ritual?  If it is, I feel kind of sorry for Lucy and Verona.

“You, me, talking here.  I know you said I’m not in trouble but I feel like I’m in trouble.”

“No, honey.  Usually, when you’re around, I feel like I make a few minutes at a time to check in, or see how you’re doing.  But when you’re away, I do want to take a bit more time to catch up.  I don’t want to go back to where things were last winter.”

Aha, this was something far more boring than connection weirdness.

Avery was pretty sure that Ms. Hardy had called her parents, because a short while after she’d opened up to Ms. Hardy, her parents had turned things around a bit and started talking to her more, asking her how she was, taking her out for treats or one-on-ones.

She kinda really resented that it had taken that long and that much, though, which made this uncomfortable dialogue a little more uncomfortable.

Which she summed up in a shrug.

“Are you in a good place?  Your friends are good to you?”

“They can be a little bit much, but… they’re good.”

“Did we do you wrong by homeschooling you?”

Avery shook her head.  Homeschooling had been easier.  The forced social interaction with the meets with other homeschooled kids.  They’d been so mindful of the risks of not giving her enough socialization that they’d gone the other direction.  Museum trips, hangouts.  It had been nice.

She’d still asked to go to regular school.  She’d been wrong to, kind of.  Rough few months.

“Want anything particular for dessert?” her mom asked.  “I think we have ice cream, brownie bites, hmmm…”

“I don’t really care about dessert.  I snacked out all weekend.”

“Hm.  So long as you finish your dinner and you had a good weekend.”

Avery shrugged again.  “Um.  But can we not watch the singing show?”

“Oh, honey.  That might be a losing battle.  I’ll be in your corner if you really want it, but…”

“Literally anything else.  Please.”

“We’ll pitch it.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got to go check on dinner.  Have you finished your homework?”

“No.”

“And I thought you said you studied, hm?” her mom asked, smiling like she’d just played a trick or caught Avery in a minor lie.  “After?”

Avery nodded.

“Alright.  Dinner in… maybe five.  Go, sort out your things from the weekend.  Make sure your laundry is in the pile or it won’t get done.  Get clothes ready for tomorrow.”

Avery nodded.

Back into the house, where Kerry was waiting by the door, trying to peer through the window.  Mom scooped Kerry up, grunting as she lifted her, and leaned her on one hip.

“Can’t do this for much longer.  You’re lucky you’re so tiny, Ker.”

Avery watched as her mom situated Kerry on the kitchen counter, and set her the task of spinning the salad dry.  Sheridan was on the stove, and Laurie had left with Rowan.

“Pen,” her dad said, as she passed him.  He was in the front hall, plugging in his phone at the hub, which had what looked like ten different wires and chargers sticking out of it.

She reclaimed her pen, then jogged up the stairs.

Declan was in her room, holding her deer mask.  Her clothes and other stuff from her bag were on the floor.

“Declan, you’re such a little penis!”

She stopped after saying it, that moment of regret and realization washing over her.

Of course she’d be the lame-ass loser who’d be the first in her trio that would say something that was technically a lie.

“Where’d you get this?” he asked.

“Give it back!” she told him, with a little more volume and anger because she was mad at herself.  For the lie, for not considering that she had zero privacy.

“Did you make it?  I saw you carving something in the backyard but it wasn’t like this.”

“It was a gift, like my carving was a gift, and don’t you dare drop it.  Give it!”

He held it at bay, using Sheridan’s wheeled computer chair as a barrier.

She used her Sight, because she didn’t have many other options.  She could see him, see the bands of connections.  She could tell her dad was on his way.

A band connected her to her mask.

On impulse, she grabbed for it.  The band moved out of the way of her hand, but she grazed it with her fingers, which pulled it closer-

And Declan, standing on one of the legs that extended from the base of the computer chair, slipped and slid a bit closer.

She snatched the mask from his hand.

Flushed with victory and anger, she gathered herself.  She could do things.  This was more than just stopping the wind, postponing a phone call that probably wouldn’t have come, and keeping her hat on.

She had another issue to fix.  The lie.

“You little penis,” she pressed.  “You’re- you’re runty, you’re sticky and snotty, you’re annoying, I don’t want you in my face, ever, and I definitely don’t want you poking randomly through my freaking stuff!”

“Avery!” her dad said, behind her.

Was that okay?  Did saying that stuff, drawing those parallels, did it work?  She didn’t care if she got in trouble with her dad, so long as it wasn’t hurting her practice or her friends.  Was it like giving an argument after being forsworn?

Whatever.  She’d work it out after.  There were other battles to be fought.  It was a question of sanity and siblings.  “The little creep was going through my stuff!”

“Was not!”

“Why are you even in my room?  Isn’t the whole point of Kerry moving in and me losing my actual bed so we wouldn’t have him perving his way through everything?”

“I wasn’t perving!  I was just curious!”

“Declan, time out.  I’ll talk to you in a minute.  Avery, calm down.”

She shut her mouth and she shut up, fuming.

Still mad at herself, because she should have known.

“How long am I in time out for?”

“Until your mom and I decide on a punishment.  You should respect your big sister’s privacy.  Avery… clean up, breathe?”

She huffed out a breath, bent down, and began picking up her dirty laundry and stuff.

She used her Sight, and she tracked the connections.  She looked at one band that was particularly slack and frail, paused as she noted that the bloodstains and bloody handprints extended to her brother, her dad, and Sheridan, who was out in the hallway.  Small, occasional, but definitely there.  A thing in Kennet alone.

But… that one band.

“Pat him down, dad?”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am,” she said.  “I’m-”

She marched over to Declan, reached for his pocket, and found it empty.  She checked the other- the connection wasn’t that clear.

She fished out the chocolate bar.

“Stealing has to be extra punishment, right?” she asked.

“Your mom and I will work it out.  This house would descend into anarchy if you got input on each other’s punishments.”

“Dinner!” the call came from downstairs.

Avery huffed.  She waited until people were out of her room before finding a quick hiding place for the chocolate bar.

Downstairs, the TV had been turned around so everyone at the table could watch.  It was already tuned to the previews of the talent competition.  Spotlights, judges, and the endless litany of new singers, dancers, and jugglers.

She hated it.  She gave her mom a look as she sat down.

“What would you guys think about a movie instead?” her mom offered.

The protests were loud and immediate, from Kerry, Declan, Sheridan, and even dad, who was now bringing over plates from the kitchen.

“Or, novel concept,” her mom said.  “We could turn off the television and talk like human beings.”

“This is Avery, right?  You’re saying it because of her, because I know you love this stuff, mom,” Sheridan said.

“It’d be nice to have a change,” mom said.  She gave dad that ‘back me up’ look.

“It could be,” he said.

If I ever have a girlfriend and she’s that bad at backing me up, she’d get the silent treatment or something, Avery thought.

Sheridan pressed the argument, “You’re not saying no.  It’s always Avery that’s whining about having to watch this, she’s the only one who doesn’t.”

“I don’t whine,” Avery said.

“You whine, you complain.  You don’t even try to like it.”

“It’s just so samey, and it’s always on.”

“See, whining.”

“Whiner,” Declan said.

“Stop, right now,” mom said.

“Let’s not forget you’re in trouble, Declan,” dad added.

“We’re missing the start!” Kerry said.

“I need the recap on whatever happened.’

“After, after.”

“If this was in any way fair, every eight days, at least, we’d get to watch something I like,” Avery said.

“We’re missing the start!” Kerry raised her voice.

Avery looked at her mom, helpless, with three siblings lined up against her, one older, two younger, all annoying.

“No, Avery’s right.  Movie,” her mom said, as she put a bib on Grandpa.

There were groans across the table.

“Jenniston’s on tonight, mom,” Sheridan said.  “Your favorite, quarter-finals.”

“I can survive, I think.”

Dad changed the channel until he found a movie that looked safe for Kerry.  Romantic comedy, it seemed.

“What, did this take two dollars to make?” Sheridan asked.  “Look at that set.”

“This looks awful,” Declan chimed in, picking up on Sheridan’s cue.

“I don’t even recognize this actor,” Sheridan said.  “How do you have a romance movie without an attractive guy?”

“I can’t hear what they’re saying,” Avery said.

“Guys, be quiet.”

“Avery talks all the time when we’re watching our show.  Which, I should mention, has something for everyone.”

“Not really for me,” Avery said.

“Oh my god, do you even like this?” Sheridan asked.

“Enough, Sheridan.  I will ground you.”

“It’s better than Singfest Canada,” Avery said.

“I want to see Jenniston!” Kerry raised her voice.  “And the box boys!”

“They got eliminated last week, remember?”

“I still want to see them!”

Much as her grandfather was doing, Avery focused on eating, enduring the onslaught.  Dinner was good, at least.  She was hungry.

“Avery, are you even watching?” Sheridan asked.

“Stop heckling your sister.”

“I don’t-” Avery said, stopping short.  “Whatever.  Change the channel.”

“Are you sure?” her mom asked.  “Because if you’re doing it because they’re behaving this way-”

“It’s not worth it.  Just…”

Avery got up from her seat, changed the channel, and sat back down, to the cheers of her siblings.

“I’ll make it up to you,” her mom said.

She continued to endure, to eat in silence.

God, she hated this show.  The judges, the performers, the fakeness.  She’d never even liked it a bit, but… ever since last fall, when there’d been three different talent shows on TV, and other shows the family liked to watch, when she’d been so lonely it got hard to breathe sometimes, the dinners had been some of the worst parts.  Worse than school.  Because people that should have reached out and connected to her hadn’t.  They’d watched their stupid show and barely talked and then went and did their own things, ignoring her while she was suffocating.

And yeah, she was to blame too.  That was what got her.  She could have always said something or piped up or whatever, but… she hated that they all made it so hard, sometimes.

“See?” Sheridan said.  “Something for everyone.  Cute boy for you, Avery.”

Avery looked at the screen and at the boy, and her initial reaction was sheer disinterest mingled with her hatred of the show, which settled on a wobbly feeling of general revulsion.  Then, worried it had shown on her face, she glanced at her grandfather, who was looking at her, and down at the table.

She wondered if she could muster enough sheer dislike for it all that the screen would crack.  Was that a thing she could do with her sight?

Wetting her hand with condensation on her glass of ice water, she drew on the table.  A circle, herself, and then spurs pointing to each member of her family.

She spat on her hand.

“What are you doing?” Sheridan asked.

She smeared it in the center of the circle.  That was enough of her, wasn’t it?  DNA?  People spat on their hands and shook, and so that had to mean something.

The young teenager’s singing had just started.

Avery realized nobody was fixated on her.

Shoveling a few more bites of food into her mouth, she stood, bringing her plate with her.  She kept an eye out, but they were stuck watching the screen.

There was no way she was sitting through another episode of this crap.

She cleaned her plate and put everything away, and jogged up the stairs to her room.  She did another, cleaner connection breaking circle that wouldn’t evaporate, sent a text to her friends, and then went to the bathroom to wet her hair under the showerhead.

She got a reply, and, water still running, checked.

Giving her hair a brief towel, she pulled on a hat, got her stuff, mask and hat included, and made her way out the door.

◬

She spotted the house at the corner of the intersection.  It had burned in a fire, and nobody had gotten around to replacing the walls.  There was only plastic sheeting.

“That’s a good trick, though,” Verona said.

“I wish I knew exactly how I did it.  If we got good at it, maybe it’d let us do the hat boomerang thing without having to draw something.”

“It might be worth asking one of the Others about that, before we do it too much,” Lucy said.  “What if it degrades the connection to pull on it all the time?  Or if it costs something?”

“Sure,” Avery said.  “I don’t see myself objecting if you say we need to be more careful, especially after what Charles said.”

“What kind of Other, though?”

“The thread ones,” Verona said.  “Maybe… Miss?”

“I don’t trust Miss,” Lucy said.

“Alpy?” Avery asked.  “She seemed cool.”

“Based on a single smile?”

“Nevermind that.  We can figure it out.  I want to know what happened next?  How did he react?” Verona asked.

“It wasn’t like that,” Avery said.  “Declan tipped my way naturally.  Like it was always going to happen.  I just grabbed it.  He looked annoyed, then I had to handle the penis thing.”

“The penis thing.”

“I called him a penis, and I didn’t want that to be a lie.”

They stopped at the far end of the intersection, waiting for a car to pass.

“So what did you do?”

“I named all the ways I could think of, that he was like a penis.  I did pretty well I think.”

“Want to do better?” a voice cut in.  Trying so desperately to be a purr and sounding more like a person choking.

What did he hear?  Avery wondered, as she backed away from the bush.

Toadswallow and Cherry were within, crawling forth.  Toadswallow was wearing a vest with a tie that didn’t quite cover his belly.

“What are you doing here?” Lucy asked.

“We’re friends with John.  We were going to hang out,” Toadswallow said.  “Come on.  You were going to talk to him anyway, weren’t you?  Hang out with us, and Cherry and I here will teach you how to make a swear count, as one of my gifts to you.”

Verona

(Posted Last Thursday – Notes on Practice – Circles & Diagrams)

---

Verona watched the goblins as they led the way.  Toadswallow was round, with legs a bit too short to be practical, and he crossed the street at a run that required him to rock from side to side to get his legs up enough, while periodically touching the ground with one hand to keep from tumbling or sprawling.  Cherry moved on all fours.

Not in a straight line, either.  They avoided the light from nearby buildings, cutting diagonally across the intersection, then crossing the street further down.  If she hadn’t been watching, she might have mistaken them for a racoon and a small rodent crossing the road.

“Ready?” Lucy asked.

“Yeah,” Avery said.

Verona nodded.

Seeing the goblins be so careful with how they crossed the road made her look both ways before crossing, even though there weren’t any cars on the road.

At this corner of town, there were some scattered businesses and stores, a trio of big concrete buildings that might have been factories, and narrow neighborhoods of houses.  The houses were different from the ones in Verona’s area.  A house that had been a barn once had extra stuff tacked onto it, like a wooden staircase and a second floor addition.  A nicer house was sandwiched between a house with grass and weeds so long that strands had grown wheat-like feathering at the top, and a house with peeling paint and next to no lawn at all.

Her dad was in a mood tonight, and she was so glad Avery had called.  Verona threw an arm around Avery’s shoulders.

“Wah,” Avery said, more like a word than an exclamation.  “You scared me.”

“How was it, going home?” Verona asked.

“Noisy,” Avery said.

“My mom ordered takeout,” Lucy said.  “She wanted to ask what we did all weekend, so I told a partial truth, that we had a short camp-out.  I think she imagined we had it in the backyard.  What about you?”

“My dad’s being a bit…” Verona floundered for a word that was both the truth and accurate.  “You know him, Lucy.  How do I put it?”

“I don’t know him,” Avery said.

“Lame?” Lucy offered.

“Yes, but… more than lame.  I want a word more profound than that, and…” she floundered again.  “…Sad.”

“Is sad more profound?” Lucy asked.

“It is the way I’m thinking it,” Verona said.

“He’s depressed?”

“I dunno,” Verona said.  “Maybe, but I feel like most adults are.”

“Agree to disagree,” Avery said.

“Sure.  But if you asked that because of what I said, I meant sad the other way.”

They’d reached the foot of the house.  It was a narrow building, and much of it had burned, with the edges of plastic siding having charred and melted.  Plastic sheeting had been nailed down to minimize the water damage.  Whoever owned it didn’t have the money to make the extensive repairs, and they couldn’t or wouldn’t sell it, probably.

This close to it, Verona could smell the burned plastic, even though it had been like this since before winter.

Toadswallow crept up onto the stairs in front of the house.  He didn’t give Cherrypop a helping hand, as she fought to climb the scraggly bush next to the stairs.  Instead, he walked over to the front door, reared back enough it looked like he was going to tip backwards onto his ass, and then kicked it with surprising violence.  The door swung open, a bit of wood dropping from where the latch met the frame.

“We heard John Stiles was twitchy, so maybe-”

“Please pardon our rude intrusion!” Toadswallow hollered into the house.

“-Don’t be too noisy?

Only silence answered them.

It looked like older teenagers had broken in at one point to have a party, and there were remnants everywhere.  Stuff was written on walls, and there was debris littering the area.  Surprisingly, not a lot of alcohol.  There wasn’t much light outside to begin with, and the boarded up windows let only dark grey slices of light through around the edges, while the plastic that covered the other windows allowed a dull glow that barely reached past the frames themselves.

Verona shrugged out of one strap of her bag, pulled out her mask, and pulled it on, because it helped with her Sight.  The sources of light seemed to reach further, and details melted away, like everything had been covered in a thin film.  Connections were marked out like spiderwebs or hairs, glistening wet and bright in the gloom.  She picked up her feet more to avoid stepping on anything like a can or a bag that might have held organic trash, before melting or being trampled down into a sketchy black patch on the floor.

She reached out to pluck at Avery’s sleeve, gently pulling Avery away from a course that would have seen her walking into a shin-high pile of trash.

Lucy kicked a bottle she hadn’t realized was there, producing a loud clatter.  The clatter extended as Cherrypop flung herself at the rolling bottle, propelling it further across the floor, until it reached a wall and audibly broke.  Both goblins stuck to the shadows, only visible for fleeting moments, even with Verona’s sight.

“This is a good haunted house aesthetic,” Verona whispered.

“Where’s John?” Avery asked.

There was light down the hall, dull and red.  Lucy took the lead, her back running along the side of the staircase that led upstairs as she inched closer to the room with the red glow within.

Verona used the same staircase to lean against as she pulled a pack of longer post-its from her pocket.  Putting one foot flat against the wall, her knee pointing out, she laid the post-its across her leg, and penned out a quick, simple diagram, one that was badly imbalanced, a triangle atop a circle, atop a triangle, each triangle pointing the same way.  Within the circle, she penned the simple ‘fire’ rune, underlining it.

“He was here recently, I hope,” Lucy said.  “Looks like he was cooking.”

It might’ve been that there wasn’t enough heat.  She tried pressing her thumb to the bottom end of the diagram.  Pull in heat, feed it to the rune that defined the function, then push it out.  She could feel the rune at her fingertip, uncomfortably numbing and kind of painful.  The end of the slip of post-it turned orange, smoking.

“What are you even doing?”

“Trying to create a light source,” Verona said.  The end of the paper ignited in flame, spitting out the occasional spark.  It wasn’t as much light as she’d hoped.  The fire extended to the diagram, and traced out glowing orange lines as it burned through, the entire thing coming to pieces, with fire rushing to the fingers that held the paper.  She tossed it up into the air rather than at the ground.  It was ashes before it reached the floor.  “Didn’t work.”

“Yeah,” Lucy said, shaking her head.

“I wonder if there’s a good ‘light’ rune.”

“Focus, Ronnie.  Please,” Lucy said.

“What’s he cooking?” Avery asked.   “That can doesn’t have a label.”

Verona looked past the pair.  There was a hotplate sitting on the kitchen counter, which was tidier than other areas of the building, and a can sat on the plate, glowing red near the bottom.  The glow from within cast light onto the cabinets, that was more than the light elsewhere in the house.

“Makes sense to remove the label, if you don’t want it to burn,” Lucy said.  She entered the kitchen, heading for the hotplate.  “Where is-”

The kitchen door slammed shut, almost in Avery’s face.

“Hey!  Lucy!” Avery raised her voice.  She pushed at the door.  A heavy mass bigger than Lucy hit the door, slamming it shut yet again.

Verona backed away a few steps, alarmed.

Lucy.

She bolted, running back into the front hall, avoiding the heaps of trash, and took a hard right.  The house had rooms off to the left and right of the front hall, and they’d been cutting straight down the middle.  Verona took the right route, hoping that the rooms off to the right reconnected to the kitchen.  She grabbed a door frame to help swing herself around in a sharper left turn.

What could she do?  She had the post-its.  The fire hadn’t been much but it had at least been fire.  If she wrote something down, she could slap it down and the post-it part of it would make it stick.  She reached for her pocket, trying to extricate the post-its again.  Hard to do when running.

She circled around, saw the open kitchen door, and paused to pull the post-its free.

He came out of a dark corner, rising from a crouch so swiftly as he closed the distance that it seemed like he grew to triple height.  One-armed, he reached past her to take hold of her wrist, drove the length of his arm into the side of her neck, and stepped in close enough that he could place a foot in the way of one of her legs, when she tried to step backward and catch her balance.

Verona tipped over, half-spinning on her way to the ground.  Her mask fell ajar, obscuring the part of her vision that was normal, while leaving the general bleed of light, shadow, and the strings mostly visible when she looked through the mask’s material.  She shook her head until it fell into a position where she could see with one eye.  She felt a weight press on her chest.

He was leaning on her, pinning her down.  She had a hand beneath her and another hand in his grip.

John had used only one arm to take her down, and he used one thumb from the hand that held her wrist to pry the post-its free.  They flopped to the floor.  His eyes were all intensity, but he barely looked at her, his head angled more in the direction of the front hall.  Avery.

Verona looked past him.  His other arm held Lucy, who had her chin about as high as it would go, her eyes shut.  She was breathing hard.

Her eyes adjusted again, the Sight helping to clarify things in the gloom.  John Stiles had a gun, and it was pressing up against the underside of Lucy’s chin, his elbow hooked under her armpit, holding her close to him.  Lucy’s hands were out in front of her, fingers splayed, not facing anything in particular.

Verona pressed her lips together, tight.  She didn’t move as he let go of her wrist, brought his hand closer to his chest, and then pulled out a knife.  The blade touched her mouth, where her lips would be if she wasn’t already pressing them together enough they were barely out there.

“Hands out, fingers splayed,” he said.  His head didn’t move, but his eyes did, falling on her.

Verona obeyed, moving just enough to slowly free her trapped hand.  She put them out where he could see them.

“Uhhh, guys!?” Avery called out.  She might have called out a second ago, but Verona was too busy being thrown to the ground.  “Lucy?  Verona!  If this is a joke, it’s a really sick one!”

Verona couldn’t even move, because the blade being where it was made even the tiniest of movements hazardous.  She could feel her skin rasp against the blade’s edge.  If she had any hairs on her lip, even the tiny white fuzz hairs, then some were getting shaved off with the movements that the tiniest of breaths forced.

Lucy’s hands were shaking.  Verona’s were shaking, more for Lucy than for herself.  The reality of a gun being there, a gun, and that his finger was on the trigger.

If there was any way she could let her mouth get cut open, and with where the knife was, it looked like it would be nose to chin, and somehow save Lucy from that… absolutely.

“Anyone!?” Avery called out.  “Toadswallow?  Cherrypop!?  What was that thump?”

Avery sounded so scared.

He didn’t move.  Verona’s tiny movements were making skin rub against the blade’s edge, not quite enough to cut, but enough that she could feel it, but John Stiles was statue still.  Even his hair was short enough it didn’t move.  His eyes were open, whites visible, and he didn’t blink.  His eyes didn’t water.  Heck, even the tiny movements of his eye didn’t change.  His clothes weren’t the sort that shifted or settled.

He really wasn’t human.

“Um, guys!?” Avery called out.  Her voice sounded closer.

“Stop!” John called out.

There was a pause.

“Stopped,” Avery said, quieter, and not quieter because she’d moved away.

“Name.”

“Avery Kelly.”

“Full sentences.”

“My name is Avery Kelly.  Where are-”

“Stop.”

Lucy made a sound of protest.  The gun shifted, pressing further into her chin.

The knife moved, pressing in.  Verona realized her hands had moved involuntarily, on seeing Lucy’s distress.

For a while, Lucy had been the only person she could stand.  Lucy and Avery were maybe the only people she really cared about.

“Speak only when spoken to.  Don’t go off topic.  Words are a weapon in a practitioner’s hands.”

There was no response.

“Where were you this morning?”

“A campsite, with Matthew, Edith, and Charles.  I don’t remember the name.”

Bethlehem, Verona thought.

“They dropped you off?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Around a quarter to six.”

“Tell me your movements since.”

“I was dropped off at home, after my friends were.  I dropped off my things, I started dinner, left early, I called them.  We thought we’d move into the interviews.”

“Are you under any compulsion?”

“No, pretty sure.”

John shifted, and Lucy made another involuntary sound.  His voice was loud and crystal clear, no doubt audible through the entire house.  “Why only pretty sure?”

“I mean, I don’t- I don’t want to say anything for certain when I could be wrong, like… what qualifies as a compulsion?  ‘Any’ is a strong-”

A violent crash interrupted Avery, and made John move, throwing Lucy to the ground beside Verona, the gun aiming at another target.

Toadswallow sat on the dining room table, which he had just cleared the bottles from.

“Toadswallow,” John said.  “I nearly shot you.”

The plump goblin cackled.

The knife was no longer at Verona’s lips.  “Toadswallow, vouch?”

“Let ’em go, John,” Toadswallow called out.  “No reason to think anything’s up.”

“Can I trust you?” John asked the goblin.  “Practitioners have your name.  All it would take to sell the lie would be to summon you and compel you to a course of action.”

“I haven’t been.  Rest assured.  Not in months.”

John pulled the knife away, then stood, backing up a step, leaving them to get to their own feet.

“Avery, I think it’s okay now” Lucy called out.  She backed away from John, and walked around the end of the badly abused dining table, keeping it between her and John.  She was still breathing hard, and she had a shine of sweat on her face now.

Verona stayed put, moving her mask to the top of her head.  Staying where she was meant that John was less likely to move around or approach Lucy.

Avery stepped through the doorway.  She stopped short as she saw John standing there in the dark.  “What happened?”

“Why do that?” Verona asked.

He put his gun into his waistband, and put the knife into a pocket sheath.  He stood there for a moment, too still, too intense looking, his eyes fixed on a distant point in space.  He was wearing a black sweater with the sleeves rolled up, cargo pants, and boots.  He had circles under his eyes and his hair was sun-bleached blond and buzzed to an even shortness.  The only decorations he had on him was a narrow black label on each sleeve and the dog tags he wore- six tags and a gold loop that stood out against the fabric of the sweater.

He turned, striding out of the room and into the kitchen.

“Hey, John!”  Verona called out.  She approached, saw him at the hot plate, grabbing the hot metal with his fingers.  She heard sizzling.  He turned, coming right toward her, red hot metal gripped in one hand.  The contents were smoking.  He opened a cabinet and pulled out a plastic container.

“Out of the way,”

She scrambled back.  She could smell something acrid and awful in the smoke, and the chemical smell from the bucket.

He went to the window at the end of the dining room, pulled away the wood covering, and tossed the contents of the can into the backyard.  The red hot can was draped over the stem of a glass vodka bottle at the top of a trash pile.  He reached into the bucket, pulled out a cigarette, and dropped it into a beer can before sloshing the bucket’s contents out the window.

“Okay,” he said, like that was done.  He approached the table, and stood there, hands on the back of a chair.  Avery was inching closer, drawing nearer to Lucy.

Verona went to the back window, moved the wood out of the way, and looked at the glowing contents of the can, which now sat on dirt.  Metal that might have been a steel scrubbing pad, long narrow things that might have been nails and screws, and…

“You eat batteries and metal?”

“No.  I don’t need to eat, though I like the routine,” he said.

“Why, then?”

“Boom,” Toadswallow said.

“If our discussion had continued for much longer, if you had forced a stalemate or initiated a binding, it would have interrupted things.  The can would explode.  If you handled the can, there was still the bucket, with a longer timer.”

“Geez.  You’re that nervous about having us around?” Lucy asked.

John didn’t give her an immediate response.

“Not us,” Verona guessed.  “I think he thinks we could be hypnotized?”

“Or disguised, or bound, or compelled,” John said.  “I’ll assume it was after he dropped you off, but Matthew addressed some of us, to let us know other Practitioners had found out about the Carmine Beast.  There are good reasons to be careful.  We should be able to tell if they enter Kennet, but there are never any guarantees in times like these.”

“Are we going to have to deal with this every time we come see you?  Or any others?” Lucy asked.

“No,” John said.  “We can hold to an approach where each meeting ends with an agreement on a time and place for the next.  If you need me sooner, use trusted channels, like Matthew or Toadswallow.”

“He’s trusted?” Lucy asked, indicating Toadswallow, who was plucking cigarette butts out of the top of a beer can, before tipping the contents into his mouth.  “He nearly got us killed, making that noise when you were ready to shoot me or cut Verona’s throat.”

“Careful, careful,” Toadswallow said.  “Don’t lie now.  The deal was struck, we can’t harm you.”

“Charles said that he thinks Others can,” Lucy said, louder, raising her voice more.  “If they’re acting on instinct.  And it sure looked like John was, there.”

“Don’t bunch up your undies there, dear, how was I supposed to know that?”

“Don’t tell me what to do, especially when you almost got us killed!” Lucy called out.  She advanced toward Toadswallow, who scrambled back, pushing more trash and bottles from the table to the floor as he scrambled across it.

“Kick his ass!” Cherrypop shouted, from a dark corner.

“Shut up!” Lucy shouted.  “Or you’re next.”

“Kick my ass!”

It was chaos, the goblins escalating things.  Verona took a step, ready to try to grab Lucy, but Avery was already on it.

“Easy,” Avery said, intercepting Lucy, stopping her.

Lucy stopped, breathing hard, face a bit shiny.

“Did you do it intentionally, Toadswallow?” Verona asked.

“Huh?  What?” the goblin asked, in his frog’s croak of a voice.  She wasn’t a judge of character, but he did sound genuinely surprised at the question.

“Sir Toadswallow, did you make that noise with the idea that John would hurt us, and we’d be out of your way?”

“No,” Toadswallow said.  “Gob bless and perish the hecking thought.”

“Did you have any inkling it was a possibility?”

“I thought it was a done deal, none of us can’t hurt any of you!”

The aristocratic act had slipped a bit.

“Did you have anything to do with the Carmine Beast and the disappearance-murder?”

“Some,” he said.  “Not like you’re implying, though.”

“Elaborate,” Lucy said.  “Now.”

“We saw it from a distance, saw it hurt.  Goblin noses, they’re good for sniffing out trouble, and she was in trouble.  We four met, ran into a dame who was bleeding from the eyes.”

“The witness,” John elaborated.  “Louise Bayer.”

“We followed her as far into town as we could get before it got tricky to go further.  Then we split up.  Told people.”

“Which people?” Lucy asked.

“Uhhh… I saw to Miss.  Munch went to Charles.  Gash went to Matthew and Edith…”

“Munch apparently found Matthew at Charles’ place.”

“Yeh,” Sir Toadswallow said.  “Yes indeed.  And Gash said Matthew called Edith about picking her up in his truck while he was filling her in.  Choir knew already.  Could smell ’em coming.”

“You could smell them coming, or they were already there?” Lucy asked.

“Couldn’t say, dearie,” Toadswallow said.

“Why not?”

“Because they’re not a group or anything like that.  They’re like a storm or a clog in the sewer.  The kids you see?  They’re just the raindrops or the bad smell that comes with.  The whole thing?  Bigger and vaguer.”

“The storm was already there?  Gathering?  On its way?”

Toadswallow shrugged.  “Don’t know.”

“Good to keep in mind,” Lucy said, meeting Verona’s eyes.

“Where’d you go that night, Cherry?” Toadswallow asked.

“The worst place!”

“Ah, yes,” Toadswallow said.  “Cherry went to the Faerie’s hideaway.  The poor little abortion of a thing is too dumb to know to stay away from those things.”

“I’m so dumb.  So ugly,” Cherrypop said, rustling through trash.  She sounded mournful, like it was assumed to be a fact.

“You’re-” Avery started.  “That’s- you shouldn’t say stuff like that, Cherry.”

“She’s fast enough to escape alive, and we thought it’d annoy them more if it was her.”

“I laid a trap while I was there,” Cherrypop whispered, right beside Verona, making Verona startle and step back.  The goblin had climbed halfway up the wall.  Louder, Cherrypop went on, telling Toadswallow, “Used condom on a tree branch I tied back.  They walk by, thwap.  Right in the kisser, if it’s the girl twit!  Right in the belly button if it’s the jock!  Thwap!”

Toadswallow cackled.

“Don’t laugh,” Lucy said.  “We’re a long way away from being cool, Toads.”

“What if I say I’ll make it up to you?” he asked.  “Dear me, I don’t want a practitioner as an enemy.  I thought I’d mess with you and give you a scare.”

Lucy didn’t answer.

“Luce,” Verona said.  “We’ll have to work with them for a while.”

“Okay,” Lucy said.  “Okay.”

“Then I’ll make it up to you,” Toadswallow said.  “It’s so.”

“Okay,” Lucy said, again.  She had her hand near one pocket, where her knife was still in the sheath, and she seemed to be trying to calm down.

“Thwap,” Cherrypop said, quiet, before making a tittering sound and dropping down from the wall to the detritus of past parties.

Verona looked back at John, and was surprised to see him smiling a bit.

“You don’t like them?” she asked.  “The Faerie?”

“I don’t mind them.  Guilherme can be good to have drinks with, exchange war stories.”

“War?  Farce,” Toadswallow grumbled, before spitting.  “Real war is waged knee-deep in a mix of mud, blood, and bowel evacuations from the dead.  My dears, the closest you get to glory in real war is sitting in the trenches with your fellow soldiers, telling dick jokes and pretending not to notice when your buddy old pal cries.”

“Agree or disagree?” Verona asked John.

“I think Toadswallow’s seen a few too many movies of the World Wars.  There’s not nearly as many trenches or battles spent knee deep in mud these days.  But… right direction, I think.”

Toadswallow was getting worked up.  “To hear that tumescent lug of a faerie tell it, it’s all glory, all the time.  What’s the fun in that?  I’ll tell you this, and you can hold my ass to the fire on this one, the only people who come back from war talking like it was the best thing ever are the liars and the sickos.”

“It’s the people,” John said.  “Nothing tempers friendships like traveling to another continent and having to trust them with your life.  Or meeting someone like a guide who doesn’t speak a word of your language, you don’t speak a word of theirs, and getting to the point where they want you to eat dinner with their family.”

“Or idiots who’ll tie a condom to a tree for a laugh,” Toadswallow said.  “While you do double duty pegging some jerks who need to be knocked down a peg.”

“I think you phrased that wrong,” Verona said.

“Maybe.”

John shifted position.  He seemed more relaxed now.  “It’s reasons like this that about seventy percent of my time spent hanging out with others is spent with the goblins.  They’re colorful but… I think they get it.”

“You were smiling when Cherry was talking about her prank on the Faerie,” Verona noted.  “Why?”

“Because of what he said, reminds me of stories from old squads.  The more regimented the system you’re in, the more you find yourself needing the occasional laugh or testing of acceptability.  And this?  What you guys signed up for last Friday?  What the goblins, the Faerie and I all deal with by the very nature of our being?  A lot of it’s regimented.  A lot of people and non-people are watching you for the slightest slip-up.”

Verona shifted, uncomfortable.  “There are a lot of freedoms too, right?  New things you can do.  A whole new world to explore.”

“There are.  But if I were you, given similar choices, this isn’t the road I would have taken.  There’s lots of other things to explore and things you can do.”

“But like… I don’t know if you understand me, here,” Verona told him.  “The sheer scale of it?  A whole world of Others and places to go… there’s like… there’s literally no way the life of the unawoken can come even close to opening that many new doors and new possibilities.”

“Careful,” Avery said.

“No, Verona isn’t wrong,” John said.  “But I can tell you, a lot of doors have closed as well.  If you’re not careful, virtually all of them close, like they did for Charles.”

Verona frowned.

“What you said about old squads,” Lucy said.  “You were actually in the army?”

“No,” John told Lucy.  “But I have scattered memories.”

“Alright, hm,” Lucy said.  She swallowed.

Verona looked at her friend, and she was pretty sure that even Avery, who hadn’t known Lucy since kindergarten, was worried about the girl.  Lucy was still shaky, still had that bit of sweat on her brow, and wasn’t as together as she sometimes was.

“We came here to interview you, John,” Verona said.  “We want to do it with all the Others in Kennet.”

“Okay,” he said.  He stood a little straighter, feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped.

“Okay,” Lucy said, kind of cutting into the conversation.  She was getting her bearings too.  “Can we move this elsewhere?  Somewhere with more light?”

“I can bring light.  If you’ll give me a second?  I’ll be back ASAP.”

“Okay,” Lucy said.

Verona took the opportunity of John leaving to circle around the dining room table and join Lucy and Avery.  She kept an eye on the other room.  She could see a bit of John Stiles, and it didn’t seem like he was doing anything more than grabbing lanterns.

She glanced at the others.  Avery seemed to be most together, but Avery hadn’t been manhandled or held hostage.  Rather than deal with the stuff John had brought up, Verona wanted to make sure Lucy was okay first.  If it came down to it, she could help provide the guidelines and structure.  The fun stuff and the anxiety-inducing stuff could wait.

He entered the dining room and set the lanterns down around the edges of the room, before placing one on the table.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you.  I may be blunt,” Lucy said.  “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No.”

“Did you do it?”

“No.”

“Do you know who did?”

“To be precise, I might know the person who did.  It even seems likely, if the power is still in Kennet.  But I don’t know who it might be.”

“Do you have suspicions?”

“No.”

“Toadswallow?  Same question.”

Toadswallow narrowed his eyes.  “Faerie.”

“Can you give us something more than just that one word?” Lucy asked.

“When things get messy, they like to stick their noses in it.”

“But… no evidence?  Nothing you’ve seen or heard?”

“Nah,” Toadswallow said.

“Okay, maybe uh, just hold back on the unsupported guesses until we ask.  Back to you, John.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“John.  It’s my understanding that you’re a… super soldier?  A Dog of War?”

“No,” John said.  “Yes, about the Dog of War label, no, I’m strong but I’m not a super soldier, like they appear in movies.  I’ve been told I’m… a stained glass mosaic of a soldier, each segment pulled from someone.”

“A… Frankenstein?” Verona asked.

“I’d hope my brain wasn’t labeled abnormal, but…” he shrugged, smiling.  “Sure.  Maybe there’s some cherry picking going on there, with what pieces go into the mosaic, but…”

“Are you stuck on that bit of it because you don’t like being called a super soldier, specifically?” Avery asked.

“I don’t mind but… I don’t want to mislead you or be called a liar,” he said.  “It’s more accurate to say I’m many fragments adding up to a whole.  If I’m good at what I do, it’s because it’s more or less all that I do.”

“So when you can improvise bombs and think those three or four steps ahead,” Lucy said, “it’s because-”

“It’s because that’s the way I think, when I have a free moment to think.  I’m this, twenty-four seven, seven days a week.  I don’t sleep, I don’t ever fully relax.  If I do find distraction, it’s only a small share of me that’s distracted.  The rest is ready.”

“Are you entirely made up of Canadian soldiers?”

“No.  Canadian, American, ANA, armed citizens, others.”

“Why Kennet, then?”

“I think the part of me that thinks of ‘home’ came primarily from a man that thought of Kennet or a place very much like it.”

“Can I?” Verona asked.  “Ask?”

“Stay on target?” Lucy asked.

Verona nodded.  She was focused on Lucy and making things easier for Lucy right this minute.  That Lucy was so guarded about that, it was another sign Lucy wasn’t all the way okay.  Other stuff didn’t take priority when that was the case.  “What’s your day to day like?  What do you do?”

“I walk around at an hour before people are really awake.  I clean and sharpen my weapons.  I watch some TV.  I read and play video games.”

“Feels like you’re just whiling away the time,” Lucy said.

“Waiting, watching.  I don’t get bored in the same way you do.  There’s a stasis in it.  A… lack of anxiety.  I expect to live a long, long time, so there’s no feeling that I’m wasting my time.”

“Not yet,” Toadswallow said.  he was shaking various cans and bottles now, trying to find the ones with trace contents in them.  “Most of the Faerie have been around long enough to go a little loopy from it.  John might eventually.”

“I’m getting the impression you’re not the biggest fan of Faerie,” Avery said.

“Nobody worth talking to is, dearie-sweet.”

“Maybe you’re a bit biased?” Avery asked.

Toadswallow cackled.

“What’s so funny about that?”

“Oh, if you keep on saying stuff like that, it’s your funeral, deerface.  Your funeral, and only if you’re lucky enough to die at their hands.”

Deerface?  Verona found that interesting.  Avery wasn’t wearing her mask.  Just her cape thing, which she was wearing more like a scarf, now that the weather was cold.

“Do be careful with the Faerie,” John said, cutting into the conversation.

Lucy nodded.  She looked at Avery.  “A lot of people are saying to watch out, so maybe…”

“We’ll try to watch out,” Avery said.

“We were saying?” Lucy asked.

“Routine.  Boredom.”

“In the evenings, if I’m alone, I’ll drink and I practice my awful singing and guitar playing.  If I can, I meet with others.  The goblins, usually, if they’re awake,” John told them.  “And usually Munch.  If there are new goblins in town who won’t listen, any monsters, any Bogeymen getting close, or any new Others who might be problems, sometimes Munch and I handle it.”

“How?” Verona asked.  “What can you do, exactly?  You come back when you’re killed?”

“More like I don’t die in the first place.  I can always keep fighting until I’m badly wounded enough that nobody would believe I could keep fighting.  If I get obliterated, you wait a couple days, I’ll show up again.  I get stronger with every life I take.  It clarifies me.  I and the other ones like me began with no names, no real faces.  Just… uniforms.  Piecemeal, like each part of the outfit was taken from one body.  After one very bloody, prolonged fight, I and two of my squadmates took on handles.  Then names.  Then specializations.  Skillsets.”

“There were others like you?”

“We rarely appear alone.  When the conditions are met for one of us to appear, the conditions are met for several.  After three years of bitter conflict, the conditions had been met enough for there to be twenty of us.  Usually… numbers vary, but for every five like me, there’ll be one more that’s a… they have a few names I’ve heard.  Dogs of Flame.  Frag Tags.”

“Hot Dogs,” Cherry piped up.

“They are…?”

“They burn, they use explosives.  They cover other bases.”

“Like?”

“Like if a practitioner wants to bind us using something like a circle, item, fencing us in?  They’ll do like I did with the can and the bucket of paint thinner, but… much bigger.  If they blow up an area… something like me will survive it.  The practitioners trying to bind us usually won’t.  Someone like me, I can collect grenades.  I won’t magically always have one, but if I wanted to set out to get a gun or a grenade, I’d know just the direction to walk.  The easiest path to take to find or acquire one, whether it’s on a corpse or in a hiding place.  The Frag Tags, they always have explosives or ways to start big fires.  They don’t come back so easy once they’re properly put down.  Gotta start a big enough fire or wait for one, and they come walking out of it.”

“Kind of getting the bigger picture,” Lucy said.  “There were twenty of you, so… four of these guys?”

“Sixteen like me, three of them.  One other.”

Careful, Verona thought.  That other one was his friend, wasn’t it?

“A leader?” Lucy asked.

“Another kind.  For every twenty or so of the rest of us, you might see one Black Dog, one Rag Tag.  They come from civilians like I come from soldiers, but… they come from wrongs, from pain, attrition.  They’ll look like kids.  Or like old men or women.  Kill them, you get sick, or something twists inside you and you can’t eat enough anymore, or… you get cold and you can’t warm up.  A curse.  The strong ones, you can’t even hurt them or say an unkind word without them laying something on you in turn.  And they come back too.  They protect us, walk into firefights, stop other kinds of binding than just the circles.  They give us direction, motivation.”

“What happened to them?  These others like you?”

“Some came from nearby conflicts that ended for long enough, then took a bullet.  Others were bound by War Mages.  Combat-focused practitioners that like a good soldier and know special ways to bind us.  Others were stopped by other practitioners, caught in other traps.  To some, we’re like cockroaches.  Pests to be exterminated.  We fled.  They got two more of us while we were fleeing.  In the end, it was just me and Yalda.”

“Yalda?”

“Our Black Dog.  My friend,” he answered.  “She filled the empty hours of the day and kept me entertained, she watched terrible shows.  Not, uh, not so clarified.  Black Dogs, they don’t take lives, not easily.  Only if they give someone a curse of revenge and that curse kills.  But what was there was… rich.”

“Did you love her?” Avery asked.

“I don’t know if I can love.  I think so.  She was my last friend.  Then I was the only one left.  I’m lucky I found Kennet.  That it’s safe here.”

“Do you hate them?  The people responsible for taking your comrades?” Avery asked.

“No.  It’s the way it is,” John said.  “And I was the one who took Yalda’s life in the end.  I was cursed.  I carried it with me for years.  Then Charles carried it for a short while before they figured out how to break it.  If I was going to hate anyone, I’d hate myself, and I spend too much time on my own to spend it stewing in hatred.”

He said all that, Verona observed, but he had a dark look in his eyes.  Sad, in a much different way than her dad was sad.

“You’re in the running to be the next Carmine Beast, if someone doesn’t get there first.  Are you excited about that?” Lucy asked.

“No interest,” he said.

“No…?”

“I don’t want it.  I’ll take the role if I have to, but I’d rather serve a quiet life protecting this place from errant goblins and bogeymen than an important life keeping all of Northern Ontario and part of northern Manitoba in balance.  I’ve served enough.”

“Okay,” Lucy said.  She looked a little caught off guard by that.

Verona jumped in, “If you did want it… how would you do it?  Kill the Carmine Beast.”

“Explosives?  A big gun?” John asked.  “She’s too… important.  The forces of this world wouldn’t want to let you, and if you did manage it, I feel like it might hurt.”

“Hurt how?” Avery asked.

“Like killing Yalda, except… not as obvious.  I could be wrong.  But this death feels bitter in the way hers did.  I don’t know what it would look like, but I feel like that would be something that would demand an answer or put something on the shoulders of the killer or killers.  You could look for that.”

Verona nodded.

“Do you have an alibi for that night?” Lucy asked.

“I wasn’t in town.  I was walking forest trails, looking to see if anything was encroaching too close.  Guilherme can corroborate.  I saw him when I left and when I came back.  I saw Miss when I came back as well.  She can confirm I was away and why.”

“Okay,” Lucy said.

“Anything else?”

Verona cleared her throat.  Lucy shot her a look, rolling her eyes a bit.

“It’s awkward to ask about, but…”

“Tricks and treats!” Toadswallow exclaimed, clapping his hands together before rubbing them.

“The boons and teachings,” John said.

“If it’s no trouble,” Avery said.

“You told us to think about what we could give you.  I’m sure the Faerie and Goblins could give you something.  Alpeana, Edith, they can make things, or know enough to teach things.  I’m not sure what I could give.”

“If I may interject,” Toadswallow said.  “I heard them talking outside.  I heard about the deerfaced one laying a penis on her kid brother.”

“Uhh, I called him a penis.”

“So!” Toadswallow exclaimed.  He started to rise to his feet, struggled with his belly and short legs, and only managed on a third effort.  “Want to make it count?”

“I’m not sure,” Avery said.

“Anything you can teach us is great for our magical toolbox, kinda,” Verona butted in.  Lucy seemed to be more okay, they were into the interesting stuff now.

“The rule of three, my dears.  I dare say it’s why we picked three of you, see?  Threes count.  Calling someone a name?  That’s introducing them to the idea.  Giving it to them again?  That’s establishing a pattern.”

“Two points make a line,” Avery said.

“And three points?  They make a shape, something you can lay on them.  The trick is you need to make it abundantly clear what you’re doing.  Stick to a theme, if you can’t use the same word three times.  And nail it in.  You!  Useless rat in the corner!”

He shouted off at the empty end of the dining room, Cherry falling from her perch on his head as he rose to his feet.

Verona turned her head.  There was indeed a rat in the trash, visible with her Sight.  It had frozen at the noise.

“Repugnant beast!” Toadswallow shouted, and slapped his hand down on the table.  He turned his head.  “The slam or physical action helps nail it in.  If you can make it personal, that helps make it hurt, get them in the heart instead of the shoulder or leg, that helps.”

“Makes sense,” Lucy said, her arms folded.

“Does it?” Avery asked.

“Revolting filth!” Toadswallow shouted, louder.  He pushed bottles from the end of the table to the floor.  He pointed at the mess beneath, “Nailing it.  Make it louder each time.  If you can make the insult more creative, bring out the really bad words, which I can’t do because of promises I swore, then it’ll stick in more.  Memorable swears won’t ever want to come away.”

“I don’t know any great swear words,” Verona observed.

“Gotta pick some good words and tie them together.  You could ask Gash.  He hasn’t sworn anything about kids, I don’t think.  Now, ahem,” Toadswallow cleared his throat, then flung himself off the table, knocking over a chair and crashing into bottles and “You malmsey, detestable shit-lick!”

The rat bolted, tried to go for a hiding place, and failed.  Toadswallow crashed through more trash, tearing his way toward it.  It finally escaped into a hole somewhere.

“Always fun,” John said, observing from the other end of the room.

“I don’t got much,” Cherry said, looking up at them.  “Some gobs of stuff.  You could rub ’em in someone’s face.  And a condom I was gonna use.”

“Uhhh… we’ll take a rain check, maybe,” Lucy said.  “Think on it some more?”

Cherry nodded.

“Do you know what you need?” John asked.  “Things I could provide?”

“Protection,” Lucy said, looking uneasy.  “We need to check in with the Choir.  Figure out what they are, try to interview them.”

“Even if those kids are raindrops from a storm,” Verona added.

“Tough,” John said.  “But if you need me there, I’ll be there.  I’ll do what I can.”

“I need- we need power,” Verona said.

“Power?”

“I was trying to do a rune earlier.  I don’t have a power source.”

“I don’t have much,” John said.  “I don’t even know if this would count, but… let me go find it.”

They remained where they were, standing in a trashed, abandoned house that smelled like burnt plastic and paint thinner, while John ducked into the back.  Toadswallow continued tearing through the room, agitating the rat.

“Can you please leave it alone?” Avery asked.

“It- Excuse me, I wanted to demonstrate the fecking thing!”

“It’s fine!” Avery said.  “Just finish explaining?”

“It’s a-” Toadswallow started.  He nearly fell over, tripping over trash.  “Third one sticks.  It’s a minor curse.  Turning an insult into something that means something, by driving it in.  That rat’s going to be grosser.  It works with all kinds of things.  Faerie use it with fancy words and phrases.  If you do a contract with them, they’ll work in repeated words and phrases that imply crap and make other stuff more important.”

“Guilherme has mentioned something similar about fights.  I think you could turn it around,” John explained, as he re-entered.  “Use words while beating someone, three times, escalate the drama of it.”

“I’ve done that,” Toadswallow said.  “Calling someone names while kicking in their… ahem, their asshole, like I kicked in the front door here.”

“Okay,” Lucy said.  “Good to know.  I’m going to try not to visualize that.”

John approached, and Verona was aware that Lucy backed off a bit, reflexive, before steeling herself and standing her ground as he closed the distance.

He held out a hand.  Verona placed hers beneath it.

It was a slug from a gun.  It was uncomfortably hot against her palm.

“It’s always had an energy to it.  Heat that wouldn’t go away,” he explained.

“What’s it from?”

“Putting down an elemental that was causing engine blocks to overheat, sometimes to burst into flame.  I don’t know how you’d tap into that power, but it’s yours if you want to try.  Keep it in a container that won’t burn.”

“It’s painful to hold.”

“It’s not real harm.  Don’t put it in your pocket.  It won’t burn through so long as it’s carried, but no matter how you carry it on you, it’s uncomfortable.”

“Got it,” Verona said.

Lucy made an inquisitive sound.  Verona handed it over, saw Lucy’s expression change at the contact.

“And…” John said.  He pulled off the simple necklace that the dog tags and the singular ring hung off of.  He removed three tags, each of them partially melted, gouged, or otherwise scarred, well past the point that the labels could be read.  “For you.”

“What do they do?”

“They’re connected to me.  Throw one down, stride forward into conflict without looking back… I’ll be right behind you.”

“Like…”

“No more than five steps behind, armed.  I’ll give it back to you after, or give you another one, provided you aren’t being frivolous in calling me there.”

Lucy nodded.  Verona ran one finger over the one she’d been given.

“Thank you,” Avery said.

“It’s appreciated.  I imagine these mean a lot to you,” Lucy said.

“Yes.”

“Are they from your squadmates?” Verona asked.

“They are.”

“And the ring is Yalda’s?” Avery asked, her voice gentle.

“It’s not available.  I’m not offering it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to imply that.”

“I know,” he told them, his voice hard.  “I believe you.  But I’m being as clear as I can.  No.  It stays with me.”

The hardness of his voice and the intensity of his gaze was a lot, like there was a promise that there was a fight to be had.  A reminder of what he was.

And Lucy looked scared.  Lucy, who hated to look scared or weak.  Lucy, who would go ballistic sometimes, or go over the top, whenever she was anxious.  Like how she’d threatened to curse Avery before the Awakening.

“I think that’s all we need for now,” Verona said.  She reached out for her friend, holding the dog tag in her closed hand.  She retreated a step, and the others took her cue.  “Thanks for cooperating.  Thank you for this.”

“Thank you for stepping in as Kennet’s practitioners,” he said.

“Toadswallow,” Verona said, trying to think of what Lucy would want to say if she was more herself.  “We may be talking to all of you goblins later, I think, for a more complete interview.”

“As you wish.  I’ll have some trinkets and gifts ready, I can help Cherry pick something fun.”

“Great.  Fantastic,” Verona said.

They left out the front door, and compared to the gloom from within, with the focused lights of the lanterns, it was bright outside.

Verona looked back at the way they’d come.  An Other that lived in a house that made sparing use of light, and only cleaned up select areas like the kitchen, because he wanted to keep a low profile.

She sighed.

She looked at the others.  At Lucy.

Lucy’s hand went to her upper arm, near the shoulder, like she was trying to find a place to put her hand, and she settled on higher ground rather than lower.  The hand moved, agitated, like it couldn’t find purchase.

She reached out, laying a hand over Lucy’s, pressing the hand into place.

“Well,” Lucy said, her chin rising, her voice making an effort to sound nonchalant.  “Got a gun pulled on me for the first time in my life.  Wasn’t expecting that.”

Verona’s free hand, still holding the tag, moved up to her mouth, touching her lip.  She wondered if her skin was red where the blade had rubbed it.

“Kinda got real,” Lucy murmured.

Avery hugged her, one arm.

“Kinda unreal,” Verona echoed her friend.

Lucy

Lucy paused at the foot of her front steps.  Each step had a potted plant at the end, half of which were just sprouting new green.  Her mom’s car was in the driveway, which wasn’t always a certainty.

Pulling her sleeve over her hand, she wiped at her face.  Fingers plucked at her hair, fixing it where it’d be lopsided from being crushed.

She was hoping that every interview wasn’t that intense.

She rocked forward, almost taking a step, then stopping herself before her foot rose from the ground.  The entire way from Verona’s house, she’d felt like she wanted to cry.  It wasn’t that she was sad, or that she could say for sure what made her upset, but she’d held herself together for the interview with John, she’d talked to the goblins, had dropped off Avery and then Verona, and… then she’d lost most of her reason to hold herself together.

Most.  She couldn’t walk in her front door crying or having just cried.  She couldn’t have a neighbor or someone look out a window and see her walking down through the maze of shitty houses with shitty gardens, having a stress cry.

She couldn’t walk into her house and start crying either.  Her mom would demand to know what was going on.

She’d almost died.  Or- Or she’d really thought she was going to die.  How was she supposed to deal with the feeling that had left her with?  Like… it wasn’t a lump in her throat.  It was bigger, and she couldn’t swallow it, couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t digest it, couldn’t throw it up.  Crying might help but wouldn’t fix it.  Breaking down and throwing things and screaming might be a big enough action to match the big feeling that was sitting with her, but it might not.

And breaking down and screaming would diminish her.  Worse, it wouldn’t make sense.  It would be reacting to something that she couldn’t process by being random, flailing.  She’d done it before and she regretted it.

No.  Not allowed.

She pressed her hands over her eyes, head turning upward, like she could somehow, at least, seal them, and keep herself from crying.  At least until she was out of her mom’s sight.

I almost died, she thought.

She could at least give that heavy feeling a shape.  It was still hard to bring herself to actually walk up to the door.

Get through the bit with mom without crying, I’ll treat myself to something.

She lifted one sneaker off the brick path leading up to the front steps, and took the stairs two at a time, letting herself in.

“Lucy?” her mom called from the other room.

“Yeah.”

“That was a long walk.”

“Swung by Verona’s,” Lucy answered.  She had.  Was her voice too monotone?

Her mom was in the living room, sitting on the couch, the coffee table in front of her, loaded down with papers.  She was still wearing nurse scrubs.

“Can I see you?”

“Yep.”

Lucy walked into the living room, approaching the coffee table.  The papers were all from the same company, with a really artificial looking header, swoopy and colorful, the company’s brand name printed in white next to a medical cross.  It was her mom’s latest job, which was mostly better than the last one.  She’d heard mom explaining it to Alison, their neighbor and her mom’s friend.  She traveled around to different houses, sometimes in nearby areas like Swanson, and taught old people how to take the company’s drug, the side effects.  Each client had a different schedule, and they had to be monitored for the first six applications or whatever.  It meant her mom was gone at completely random times.  Sometimes before school, sometimes when Lucy went to bed.

“Did you get snacks?”

“Didn’t go into the store.  We uh-” Lucy paused for a second to mentally fact check.  “-Mostly talked and walked, I guess.”

“I was hoping I could get a bit of whatever snack you grabbed.  Especially if there’s any caffeine in it.  I’m so sick of coffee.”

“Sorry.  I was thinking I’d get a snack, but…” Lucky thought.  “Do we still have hot chocolate in the cabinet?”

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had that.  Is that going to make it too hard for you to sleep tonight?”

“I-” Lucy stopped herself before the hitch in her voice actually reached her words.  Dangerous, when her voice might have cracked.  “-really wanted a hot chocolate.  I’ll manage.”

“Make me some too?”

Lucy nodded.

She went to the kitchen, turned on the oven ring, filled a pan with a couple cups of water, and set it on the ring. Once it was at a near boil, she poured some into a bowl, set another bowl inside, and put a good amount of cacao oil in the small bowl to warm.

With the rest of the water, she whisked in a bit of cocoa powder while it heated up, crushing the lumps.  Then the milk.  She emptied three mugs worth in.  Last was the chocolate.  Some cooking chocolate was in the cabinet, a little white at the edges from age and lack of use.  She crushed it and whisked it in.

It’d take a few minutes, she knew.

Looking at the creamy mixture made the feelings well up again.  Like she could freak out right here.  She distracted herself with the whisking, periodically pacing, roaming the kitchen.

There were a lot of envelopes from the local hospital.  Her mom was applying again, it seemed.  There was supposedly a shortage of doctors and nurses, especially in places out in the middle of nowhere, like Kennet.

But that had been true the last time her mom had been applying.

Her current thing was better than her stint as a homecare nurse.  That had been last year, and she’d been gone every night and most mornings, always trying to time it so she left right after Lucy was in bed, and right after she’d gotten Lucy to school.  She’d seen her mom change over the months, becoming more washed out, more frustrated with the little things.

Verona had said that every adult she knew was unhappy and Verona knew Lucy’s mom.  She wasn’t wrong.  Things were a bit better for her mom now, but this drug injection thing wasn’t what she wanted to do.

The chocolate in the milk and cocoa had melted enough that it had smoothed out.  She carefully portioned it out into two mugs, got the whipping cream from the fridge, and portioned it out, giving each mug a swirl.

She considered her next steps.  Oil, hot chocolate, her mom’s hot chocolate… she dug into the lower drawers to find a rigid plastic silly-straw, which took the contents of whatever was sucked down on a course shaped like a peace sign.  It had been long enough since it had been used that it was a bit sticky and dusty, so she rinsed it off, before making her way back to her mom, carefully holding the bowl of warm oil, two mugs, and straw, her backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Oh, where did you even find that?” her mom said, taking her mug.  “You shouldn’t use a straw when drinking something hot.  You’ll burn your mouth more easily.”

“I was going to do my hair, because I was outside a lot this weekend.  I thought it’d be easier with the straw.”

“Do you want me to?”

Lucy considered.  She had been bracing herself, telling herself she only had to look normal for a few minutes.  She’d distracted herself with the making of the hot chocolate, but…

“Come on,” her mom said, rising to her feet.

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Just trying to figure out my schedule for next week.  What I don’t do today, I can do tomorrow.  Let me take that.”

She gave her mom the bowl.

Lucy’s room had two walls covered in art from CDs and subscription boxes.  Her brother had been subcribed to one service that sent music samples, promotional materials, and the rare ticket from new artists and whatever every month, and he hadn’t canceled it after he’d moved out.  She’d convinced her mom to keep paying when it had lapsed, because she’d gotten into it.  Less that she loved music and more that it reminded her of her brother.

The other two walls were mostly empty.  There was a cot folded up in the corner, for when Verona stayed over, a bookshelf with mostly graphic novels, and a desk with a mirror built in, a few minor cosmetics, some wide-tooth combs, and homework she hadn’t one hundred percent finished.

She sat down at the desk, mug in front of her.  Her mom put the bowl down, and undid the ponytail, before starting to quadrant off her hair.

It was nice, and it was nice in a way that weakened her defenses.  Made her feel like she might do the crying thing.  She focused on the hot chocolate, eyes down on the homework.  She took a sip, put it down, picked up her pen and penciled in an answer.

Her mom’s hands rested on her shoulders as she leaned over to look at the answer.  Rather than comment on the homework, she said, “You’re tense.”

“Mm.”  Almost always.  But especially after I almost died.

“Don’t want to say why?”

“Not sure what I’d say.”

“Okay then.  How’s Verona?” her mom asked.  “Don’t let me interrupt you, if you want to do homework.”

“I don’t, and it’s mostly done.  Um, Verona…”

Lucy thought of Verona, a knife pressed against her lips.  The look on Verona’s face, like she didn’t even really care.  When had Verona stopped being the person she knew and understood?

Scratch that.  She’d never entirely understood Verona, but… she definitely didn’t understand this Verona, who seemed to be so full of the idea of everything about spirits and practice and everything else that it had pushed out parts that Lucy recognized.

“She’s always a bit weird.  Weirder now.  I think her dad is getting to her.”

“Should I say hi to him?  I could find an excuse, maybe give him a nudge if he needs one.”

“I don’t know if it’s the kind of thing you could nudge about.  More like they aren’t even related, and they’re stuck in the same house.”

“Mmm.  Hard to disagree.  Does she take after her mom?”

“You’ve met her mom.”

“But I don’t know her.”

Her mom’s hands were gentle, working through a few tangles and knots.  Lucy’s hair was in four simple braids now, each sticking out a bit from her head.

“I look like a derp.”

“You’re a beautiful girl, Lucille, and that’s not my mom bias talking.”

“A bit of mom bias.”

“Really, no.  All my friends remark on it, okay?”

Lucy shrugged.  She didn’t think she looked bad, but she wasn’t remark-worthy either.

“And just so we don’t get distracted from the topic, you know Verona can come over whenever.  The house feels empty with Booker gone.  It’s nice hearing voices in the other room.”

“Okay.”

“How’s Avery?”  Lucy’s mom hand-massaged the oil into Lucy’s hair.  “It’s easy to forget you’re a trio now.”

She could imagine Avery, standing in the dark, barely visible, while Verona had a knife to her face and Lucy had a gun to her chin.

They’d strongarmed Avery into this, a bit.  That point when they’d been walking up to the clearing, and Avery had wanted to go.  Would Avery have wanted to do this without that push she’d given her?

The Others had said there was a kind of responsibility when they brought someone into this world.  It felt to Lucy like that was the case.  That she’d brought Avery into that Other world, at least a bit, with that push.

“She’s cool.”  Not answering the question, but a technical truth.  Lucy sipped more of her hot chocolate.

Things continued for a bit, her mom massaging the oil into her hair near the roots.

Lucy penned another answer.

“Reasons for Canadian confederation,” her mom observed, leaning forward.

“Ugh.”

“Come on.  You’re almost done.”

“Blame America.”

“Phrase it better.”

Lucy, her head rocking a bit with the movements of her mom’s hands through her hair, penned down an answer.  Threat of American invasion.

“Five more reasons.”

“Trade.  Hudson’s Bay Company couldn’t use the rivers for the ongoing fur trade, they wanted a railway…”

“Good.”

“Is it right?”

“It’s been a long time, and my mind is fried.”

“So you don’t know.”

“It sounds right.”

Lucy penned it down.  She reached for her hot chocolate, but didn’t pick it up, only holding the handle.  “Any luck with the hospital applications?”

“A few positions were open.  We’ll see.”

“If you don’t get it, and if your current thing doesn’t work out, is there a chance we’d have to move?  There might be openings at other hospitals in other towns, right?”

“Don’t worry about that.  I don’t want to separate you from your best friend.  From your friends, still have to remind myself you’re a trio.  I will figure it out, Lucy.  It’s not something you need to worry about.”

“But what if I want to worry about it?  Like, you deserve the job.  You’re a good nurse, the people who you used to work with at the other hospital said so.  You know your stuff, I know you study.”

“Really, Lucy, don’t worry.  We’ll be fine.”

Lucy made herself shut up by picking up her mug and sipping from it.

Her mom used a paper towel to hold her mug and also drink from it.

“I want to know, if there’s an explanation.”

“And I want you to let me handle my stuff, while you focus on handling Lucy stuff, okay?  As a teenager your job is to do your homework, do the occasional chore-”

“More than occasional.”

“-and if you can figure out who you are and where you want to go in life before you need to make decisions about University, then that’s a bonus.”

Lucy thought back to that dark house.  How cool to the touch John Stiles’ hand had been, the metal of the gun even colder.

Why was it, she found herself wondering, that whenever she got a glimpse behind the curtain, it was so very dark out there?  Seeing her mom with that same look in her eyes as John Stiles.  Seeing the blood, the swords.

Her eyes were open, and she opened them again, to view the world in dark watercolors.  The yellow of the oil in the bowl in front of her was surprising in how bright it was.  She looked up to see herself in the mirror, and there were angles where she could see herself wearing the fox mask.  Sometimes the mask was a stark white, barely resembling a fox.  Other times it was like Avery had carved it, painted a rosy color, but with real fox eyes.  Another time, it was almost a real fox’s face, but with her eyes.  Her hair was highlighted with enough pink that it didn’t look real.

She could see her mother dip fingers into the bright yellow oil, then run those fingers through her hair.  The pink almost flared, as the oil set in.

Third quadrant done.  The hair that had just been oiled was bound into a tight coil.

Onto the last quadrant.  Braid undone.  Her mom leaned over to put the elastic that had held the braid together on the desk, sipping from her own mug of hot chocolate.

With the change in posture and the bending over, Lucy could see her mom’s reflection in the mirror.  A sword, short and rusty, with a broken tip and a sash-like rag tied to the handle at her back, was stuck through her upper body.  Penetrating her heart, the blade sticking out her front.

Lucy shut her eyes at the sight of it, and for a second, her head trembled in a way that her mom would have noticed if she wasn’t preoccupied.  Lucy clasped her hands in her lap, eyes still shut.

“Falling asleep on me?” her mom asked.

With her eyes closed, she couldn’t be sure that she had actually turned off the Sight.  And there was no way she wanted to risk opening her eyes and seeing that sword sticking through her mom again.

“I’m tired,” she said, and that admission almost made her break.

She kept her eyes closed and drank the rest of her hot chocolate.  The chocolate had settled in the bottom as a delicious sludge.

The last quadrant of hair was bound up, and her mother stepped out of the room.

Lucy let herself open her eyes.  She shut off the Sight.

Her mother returned with freshly washed hands, a towel, and a silk scarf.  She wrapped up Lucy’s head in the towel, then secured it with the scarf, which she knotted at Lucy’s forehead.

“Thank you.”

“This was nice, I don’t get the chance to do it myself,” her mother said.  Her mother’s hair was cut close to her scalp.

“Lucky,” Lucy said, smiling.

“I wish you smiled more.  You used to be so warm and happy.”

I used to be more of a softball than Avery or Pamela O’Neill.

“Maybe I’ll work on it.”

Her mother kissed her on the forehead.  “Homework, then bed.”

“I usually finish my homework in class, before it starts.”

“If you think you can.  I trust you.”

Lucy stood from the chair.  She handed her mom some of the things, like the elastics, the bowl, and the paper towels with oil, hot chocolate and whipping cream on them, but when it proved too much for one trip, she followed her mom out, carrying the rest.

Halfway back to the kitchen, she said, “I love you, mom.”

“Wow.  It’s been a little while since you’ve said anything like that.”

“I really do love you.  You’re great.  Thank you for doing my hair.”

She felt so awkward saying it, especially now that it had been pointed out.  But after what had almost happened earlier… she felt like she needed to say it.  Just in case.

“My genuine pleasure.  I love you so much my heart hurts, you know that, right?”

Lucy glanced at her mother’s heart, where the sword had been, looked away.

That hadn’t been for or about her.

“Yeah.  I know.”

Her mom dropped stuff off at the sink, rinsing some, then headed back to the coffee table and couch to resume working.  Lucy rinsed one bowl, and while she rinsed, turned her head back to the pile of envelopes from the hospital on the kitchen counter.

She looked with the Sight.

Dark stains discolored the paper, like watercolor or mold.  She couldn’t say for sure if there was more of it there than there was elsewhere.  Every time she felt like she could decide for sure, she noticed more untouched space or noticed more staining.  Tricks of the eyes.

She shut that eye, leaving her ordinary eyes open, and washed her hands before heading back to her room, turning off some of the lights as she went.  She sorted out her homework, then collapsed into her bed.  The taste of the hot chocolate and warm feeling of a moment with her mom sat high and thick in her lower throat and upper chest, kind of like heartburn.  The big ball of emotion from earlier was still there, and it was like it wasn’t letting the rest of it by.

She stripped out of her sweatshirt and changed her pants out for some pyjama shorts, then collapsed onto her bed, one hand keeping the scarf in position around her hair.

The red of the clock seemed so bright in the gloom, penetrating her awareness to inform her it was ten oh seven at night.

At ten thirty, she turned over onto her side, reached down for her bag, fished out her notebook, and turned her bedside light onto its dimmest setting.  She pored over her notes.

The moment she’d heard Charles talk about practitioners who dealt in war, she’d been intrigued.  Now… she wasn’t sure.

She penned down some more questions she wanted to ask, then connected them with lines.  Who fit best?  Who should she ask?

It was clear now that they were out of their depth.  They needed the means to defend themselves, and she didn’t want to trust something like John Stiles to appear and protect her if she had the option of protecting herself.

Guilherme?  The warrior faerie that John liked?  She was leery, because of how everyone else had acted about faerie.

None of the others seemed to really be about self defense.  Edith, maybe, if she wanted to work with fire.

The problem was that she couldn’t trust any of them until she knew for sure which ones she could distrust.  A lot of the questions and details were things she could posit to Miss, but Miss seemed to be actively untrustworthy, hiding, staying quiet, controlling when she wasn’t quiet.

At eleven fourteen, she heard her mom quietly go to bed.  She remembered that she’d told herself she would let herself cry if she needed to after she was out of the way of her mom, but even with that heavy, awful feeling that seemed to have swelled inside her until it felt like something should have broken, she couldn’t bring herself to.

At eleven fifty five, she realized this was going to be a long night.  The frustration at her inability to sleep began to make it harder to go to sleep.

She mused for a bit on various insults she would level at some of the people in her life who had really pissed her off, using the goblin magic and the rule of three.  Sling some bottom-tier curses out there to some specific people.

Mrs. Fowler, her grade two teacher, who had berated her in front of the class because she kept writing her nines like they appeared in the textbook, with curved tails.  Nothing really said to Logan who had writing so indecipherable the letters looked like wingdings, or to Melissa, who took similar, intentional liberties with her ones, sevens, and zeroes.  Lucy just hadn’t known better, and she’d gone home crying that day.  Mrs. Fowler hadn’t let up either.

She remembered reading in a book once that growing old was like being a baby again.  Being in diapers, having trouble walking, sometimes even having trouble speaking.  She wished there was a good word or thing to say to Mrs. Fowler that would make her like that.  Old and helpless and totally alone, singled out and going back to her bed in the old folks home, crying.  She hated that woman.  Lucy had never really loved school again after that.

There was Logan who had proclaimed in fifth grade that boys were stronger than girls, and when she’d offered to fight him, had agreed.  While he hadn’t trounced her -it had been a really sad fight on both sides, really, with other kids cheering them on, more pulling on hair and clothes than actually fighting- he’d turned around and told a teacher she’d bullied him.

That would’ve been after.  After Paul.

She put Paul out of mind.  He was after.  He was last.

Logan needed to be marked out as the stain he was.  Gross and sweaty and embarrassing.

There was the boy at the lake, when she’d gone vacationing with her family.  That had been so long ago she couldn’t remember for sure if Doug was his real name in her memories or a name she’d stuck with him.  He’d made fun of her watercap and pushed her into the water, and then didn’t let her out, pushing her down and in every time she tried to slosh through and get by.  Booker had come by and Doug had fled, and she just… she remembered being so indignant, shaking from it and from the cold of being wet.

She hoped he got a disease that made him have to crap in a bag for the rest of his life.

She was working herself up, her mind going in circles, sometimes going back to the same curses and curse ideas.

If she had the power to apply curses, could she do something that would satisfy?  Because everything that came to mind was like a story that hadn’t been finished yet.  It felt wrong that there was no final chapter, no moral to the story except that things and people sucked sometimes.

When they’d had to pee in cups for a health test in school, Kirsten had spilled her cup, splashing Lucy’s leg and sneakers.  She hadn’t apologized and had made insinuations about Lucy smelling like pee, later.  She remembered scrubbing at her shoe and leg and feeling so gross.  Just a small curse for something like that, right?  Like a recurring ulcer on Kirsten’s peehole so she’d writhe in pain when she peed and end up on the bathroom floor, still peeing.  Once or twice a year, maybe, until she did something to make up for it.

Eve had borrowed a graphic novel that she’d bought and got signed while in Thunder Bay to do some city shopping, and had never returned it, but… Eve had been held back a grade.  She’d bug Eve about it when she ran into her again, but she had mercy.  No curse, imagined or otherwise.  That was a shitty enough thing to have to deal with, without cursing her with a propensity for papercuts and sharp bits of food between her teeth.

The curses that she imagined weren’t like the ones that the goblin’s trick would let her apply, but… it was satisfying.  It got her worked up to imagine the events all over again, but… the lack of fairness in it all ate at her.  The heaviness of the emotion that was sitting with her wasn’t one singular event.

When she ran out of new, inventive swears and people she had a grudge at, she looked at the clock.  Twelve thirty five.

She got her phone and fiddled around with it, watching some of the recommended videos, revisiting the app to check that the class’s votes hadn’t come out yet… not that it mattered.  She put on some music, put her earbuds in, and lay with her face smushed into her pillow, arms out to the sides.

One eleven.

She was exhausted and she felt like sleep was never going to come.

I almost died.

And they think the Hungry Choir is scarier. 

They act more scared of the Faerie.

Have to take this seriously.  Have to get Verona to take this seriously.

Avery, at least, I can trust.  She’s a ditz sometimes but she’s cool.

She found and put on a video by Mr. Lai.  One of the kids in school had found his channel when he’d left his computer unlocked, and spread it around.  A lot of people had been laughing, because Mr. Lai was this short, super-clean cut teacher who’d been born in China, and his channel had a ton of videos where he was dressed like a lumberjack and building a cabin from scratch, somewhere up north.

But like… it was actually kind of cool.  That single-minded focus.  The skills involved.  It was neat to see someone into that, and it kind of reminded her of some of her memories of sleepovers with Verona, when Verona was super into something obscure or weird, like a craft project.  Those had been some of the best weekends, really, because that kind of steady enthusiasm was infectious.  A part of her still hoped this practice stuff could be more like that.

Mr. Lai’s accent was pretty tough, but if she didn’t really listen, like she wasn’t really listening now, then it just became a steady, pleasant noise, sometimes over the sound of saws and hammers.  He kind of put her to sleep, like he had last year, but that was a plus right now.  And watching like this gave him some views.  Win-win, wasn’t it?  He might not be super thrilled to know students were falling asleep to the sound of his voice, but… whatever.  Win-win.

She hit the like button and lay there, trying to let her mind wander and picture what he was putting together from the sounds of his voice, even if she couldn’t always catch the words.

She heard a thumping noise, and picked up the phone with the video still playing, her eyes still closed and face still pressing into the pillow, and blindly thumbed at the screen until she could rewind the video a few steps.

The video went back, then continued toward the point where it had been when she’d heard the thump.

There were more thumps, dull and hollow, at a point in the video where she definitely hadn’t heard anything.  She paused it and pulled out her earbuds.  She flopped over onto her back, looking toward the door, the closet, the cot in the corner.

One forty-seven.

The time on the clock changed to gibberish, then flickered.

She could hear it.  Scrabbling and thumping, elsewhere in the house, rapid, almost like a lunch table worth of hands drumming at a table in anticipation of pizza.

Except… there was nobody.  The house was dark and quiet.  The only light was from her alarm clock and phone.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump.

Something in the house creaked and banged.  It wasn’t a door.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump.

A face appeared at her doorway.  Pale, framed by long, dark hair.

Alpeana, peering in from the upper corner of the door, face at a diagonal.  The face rotated two-hundred and seventy degrees.

“Is this a threat?” Lucy asked.

Alpeana lunged, crawling across the ceiling with rapid movements.  Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump-

Crawling across the ceiling to a point directly over Lucy’s bed in about a third of the time it would take Lucy to walk from her doorway to her bedside table.

She hung there, suspended, fingers straining, curved backwards as fingertips seemed to dig into the ceiling itself.  Her head twisted, rotating, like she was trying to get a better view.

Show no fear.  Give her nothing.

Never show weakness.  It’s never worth it.

Lucy remained stock still, watching.

Alpeana’s mouth yawned open, and black fluid oozed out, multi-layered, thick with debris that could have been anything, but with shapes like rotted leaves turned black by a winter spent under the snow, or the stringy guck pulled out of drains.

Her hair turned liquid, doing something similar, just in much greater quantities.  Drainstuff, rot, mold, mixed with liquid as thick and black as oil, refusing to flow straight down so much as it stuck to itself.

“I had a bad night.  I’m not in the mood for this,” Lucy said.  As the stuff reached down from the ceiling and toward her head, she grabbed a spare pillow and held it up in the way.  “You’re not allowed to hurt me, by the deals made.”

The stuff touched her sheets, just over her chest.  Heavy, soaking in and pressing down.

It touched her pillow, that she held up as a shield and barrier to keep it away from her face.  Strings, rivulets, and clumps oozed down around the edges, sides, and more of it piled on top, making the pillow difficult to hold up, even with both hands.

No fear.  No weakness.

“You’re not winning any points with me, Alpeana.”

Is this her acting on instinct?

A white shape pressed into the curtain of black stuff that draped down from the pillow’s edges.  It took Lucy a second to realize it was a face, poking through, with eyes as dark as anything.

“Ye’re due a nightmare, lassie,” the Mare said, her voice young, but thick with a Scottish burr.

“No thanks,” Lucy answered.  The stream from above had eased up.  The curtain of dark liquid had pooled around her, soaking into her sheets and pillow, but now that what was coming from above wasn’t so thick, she could see that what had piled up on her stomach and chest was the rough silhouette of a person.  Alpeana’s face lifted up to find a home roughly where the head should be.

“Yeh,” Alpeana said.  “Tha’s wha’ I thought.  I’ll spare ye that.”

“Okay.”

“Can’t go and say ye won’ have a bad dream now, but it won’ be a fancy Mare dream like ye might be havin’ if ye were’n protected.  I’m suppose ta pass on a message.”

“Pass it,” Lucy said.  In her efforts to keep from freaking out, she was holding her head so rigid that her chin was rising by fractions.  Her breath came in small intervals, with the weight on her chest.

“Miss wants ta talk.  Get an update on yer findin’s and all tha’.”

“Miss is a suspect.  I mean no offense, but… we’re not at her beck and call.  If there’s any oversight, I think it’d have to be from the Alabaster, Sable, and Aurum, and I’m not even sure about that.”

“Tha’s a no then?”

“No.  Sorry.  I’ll discuss with the others, though.  We may want to talk to her anyway, but it shouldn’t be like that, us answering to her and filling her in on everything.”

Alpeana leaned forward, darkness pressing in close to Lucy’s head.  Then she scampered up the wall, then to the ceiling.  As she pulled away, the rags and dark strands of her hair pulled up the stains and dark gloop that she had left behind her, leaving the bed and everything pristine.

“Alpeana,” Lucy called up.

The girl, already at the door to the bedroom, turned around, then sat down, positioned upside-down, bare legs and dirty toenails visible.  She idly pushed at the door, which was right by her head, and it opened further, creaking.

“What would you have done if I’d been asleep?”

“Ah, I’d have left ye be, like I did the other two.”

Lucy nodded.

Alpeana flipped over, climbed over the top of the doorframe, and disappeared out into the dark hallway.  Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump.

Lucy remained where she was, her phone still glowing with the video paused on it, the alarm clock reading two fifteen in the morning.

Her heart pounded, each of the beats heavy enough that they jarred her vision.  After two minutes of it, it hadn’t eased up, and she felt nauseous.

Her eyes remained open for most of the time until it was three twenty, when she finally eased down, pulled the covers around her, and let herself close her eyes.

She didn’t look at the clock, but it was probably closer to four thirty when she finally slept.

◬

Lucy stood by the fence by the school, watching the students approaching, and the long, long, long line of cars on the road.  The school had been set in an area without a lot else nearby, possibly with plans to expand or use the space nearby for more fields or whatever, and that opportunity had never been capitalized on.  The building was boring and the area around it was just as bad, with tall grass cut short so kids didn’t get ticks, some trees, and not much else.  Some kids were cutting across that area.

There was one road that people could take to get to the school and it tended to be clogged.  Half the kids took the stubby half-size school buses that cars couldn’t legally drive past, the other half that didn’t walk it got driven in, their parents parking somewhere along the road to drop them off, then pulling out to cut off or clog up traffic.

Add in the kids who walked or even ran across the road when traffic was at a near-standstill, the kids who biked and cut off everyone, and it made for a lot of stupidity.  A lot of parents dropped their kids a five or ten minute walk away from the school to avoid the whole thing.  Lucy’s mom had offered the option of getting a ride annoyingly early or making her own way, and Lucy had taken the former.  She’d done it enough times before that she knew how this whole setup tended to evolve.  The jams, the kids getting dropped off, the dynamics.

Today it was a little worse, because she’d slept like crap and she was grumpy.

Verona’s dad, in contrast to Lucy’s mom… Lucy recognized the beat up old Corolla.  Inching along, fighting with traffic.  Verona didn’t talk to her dad, her head down as she played with her phone or read.  Maybe one day out of the week, Lucy would see the two of them talking.

The Kellys had parked at the end of the road, and the kids were unloading.  Lucy watched Sheridan get out, followed by Declan and little Kerry Kelly.

No Avery, which meant…  Lucy turned, sticking her toe into the criss-crossing wire of the fence and hopping up to get a better look past the fence and to the point beyond the schoolyard.  She was pretty sure she saw Avery back there, biking across the uneven field.

She turned, walking down the sidewalk, against the current of students, to get closer to where it looked like Verona would get out.

Rather than pull over, Mr. Hayward stopped in the road and Verona scrambled out, bag hugged to her front, slamming the door behind.  Lucy raised a hand in a wave, and Mr. Hayward gave her a wave back.

“Don’t draw attention to him,” Verona said.  “It’s embarrassing.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“My dad got anal last night.  Avery got in trouble, too, for being out past curfew.”

“I saw the messages when I woke up this morning.”

“You?” Verona asked.

Lucy shook her head.

“Did you draw the connection breaker when we went to John’s house?” Verona asked.

“Nah.  Told my mom I was going out for a walk and that I’d hang with you, said I’d try to be back before curfew.”

“I think Ave and I got slapped down for using it too much.  Extra and unwanted parental attention.”

“How bad?”

“Just annoying.  Have to get the details from Avery,” Verona said.

“Speaking of.  I wanted to talk with you guys.  Want to head over and see if we can’t catch Avery and chat for a min before we go inside?”

Verona nodded, smiling.

They had to take a roundabout route to get through the gate and then around to the side of the school, while Avery biked over.

“Your siblings got a ride, Avery!” Verona called out.  “What are you, the red headed stepchild?”

“Ha.  Ha.  I’d rather do this…” Avery panted.  The grass was not good for riding on, even with her mountain bike.  “…Than subject myself to the back seat.”

“How much trouble did you get in?” Lucy asked.

“My parents aren’t really good at laying down punishments, and even when they do stick to it, I usually get it easy because I don’t cause much trouble,” Avery said.  “But I’ll have to watch out for that.”

“We have to watch out for other things,” Lucy said.  “I think we’re being monitored.”

“Monitored?” Avery asked.

“Toadswallow was right there, wasn’t he?” Lucy asked.  “He was in the bush, keeping tabs on us.  And Charles… they brought him along when we went camping?”

“Yeah, but… what’s weird about that?” Avery asked.

“The entire time, I was thinking, alright, well, he can lie, so we have to be careful.  Can’t listen too carefully.  They might have brought him along to slip us a key piece of misinformation.  Every time he said something, I was kind of going through it in my head, wondering if it was the trap he was trying to slip us.”

“Yeah,” Verona said.  “Same, kinda.”

“And… that’s not the full story.  What if they brought him along because he could hurt us?  Like, if we immediately set out on a direction that they weren’t comfortable with.”

“That’s a little paranoid,” Avery said.  “He seemed kind of shocked that we were kids.”

“Teenagers.  What if he was shocked that we were teenagers because he made a deal before he showed up, that he’d go along on any road trips and put an end to the new practitioners if they turned out to be trouble?  Like… he gives off creepo vibes, but that’d give most people pause, wouldn’t it?”

“Can’t really blame them,” Verona said.  “Like John said, a practitioner can enslave with words.  We can curse with words.  They have a lot at stake.”

“Uh, sure,” Lucy said.  “Maybe.  But… so do we, right?  You do get that?”

“I get it,” Verona answered.

“Alpeana showed up in my room in the middle of the night.  She said she stopped by to see you two, too.  So you know, like… I assume your houses are locked up, but she’s showing up while you’re asleep.  Let that sit with you for a second.”

“Was she nice?” Avery asked.

“She was… Scottish, I think?  Didn’t expect that.  I think she said she spared me from an especially bad dream.”

“Aww.”

“It was a pretty creepy visit, Ave.  She had a message from Miss, but… it’s pretty obvious they’re keeping a close eye on everything we do.”

“Like I said, it’s understandable,” Verona said.

“It’s understandable, but… are there any Others that could turn up at the school?”

“Hungry Choir?  Maybe?” Avery suggested.  “I’ve been trying to train my Sight, ever since we first went camping, and I probably have a long way to go, but I don’t see anything.”

“Training is a good idea,” Lucy mused.  “Okay.  This might have to be our place to compare notes and discuss.  It might be too much civilization or too many people for the goblins, I don’t know who else would show.  We’ll watch out, maybe head out to the field or meet somewhere private between classes, compare notes and come up with plans.  That way they can’t anticipate us too much.”

The other two glanced at each other.

“Yes?” Lucy pressed.

“Sure.”  Verona shrugged.  “I’m happy to talk more about this stuff.”

“No objection,” Avery said.

“Thank you,” Lucy said.  She meant it.  She’d been prepared for a fight, or for resistance to the more aggressive precautions.  The last few attempts had been debates.  “Keep an eye out, and we should start thinking about what we do to protect ourselves.  If someone like Alpeana can decide whether we do or don’t get nightmares, can she do other stuff to our dreams?  Where else are we weak?”

“Stiles really spooked you last night, huh?” Avery asked.

“That’s not it.  It’s a small part of it.”

“I want you to be safe,” Verona said.  She looked at Avery.  “Both of you.”

“Uh, all three of us, Verona,” Lucy said.

“Yeah.  For sure.”

“Say it.”

“I want all three of us to be safe, intact, sane, whatever,” Verona rolled her eyes as she said it.

They made their way into the building through the side door.  There were some students around, but they seemed caught up in conversation.

“I still don’t know how you were able to stay so calm after having a knife in your face,” Lucy said.

Verona laughed as she retorted, “You had a gun in yours.”

Lucy smiled for Verona’s benefit, but she really didn’t feel like smiling.  That heavy feeling was there.

“Hey!” A voice, male.  It was Jeremy, from their class.  He jogged up a couple stairs.  “What game?”

Ah, damn.

“Huh?”

“What game were you playing?”

“It was real,” Verona said.

“Ha ha.  Seriously, though.”

“Totally real,” Verona said, again, a half-smile on her face.  Then she jogged up the stairs.

Lucy looked back at Jeremy and shrugged, before following, Avery right behind her.

They took three desks at the back of the room, putting their bags down.  Lucy had to remind herself to be careful, because her mask was in there.

“Guess we can’t talk about this stuff in school,” Avery said, sitting in her chair sideways, back to the wall, head leaning against the window.

“Not easily,” Lucy admitted.

There were no cliques in their class, not like there were in mom’s old movies.  Whatever there had been way back then had seemed to splinter and combine over time.  Other students made their way into the class.  The Dancers were the biggest contingent, but even they had their subdivisions and blurred lines.  They had thirty three students in their class, and ten were Dancers.  The other class in their grade had twelve.  Girls who were super into the gymnastics, dancing, and cheerleading things that were taught at the place down near the bridge.

But there were people like Melissa, who was on Avery’s soccer team, as well as being a Dancer.  As she entered the room, Verona looked at her, and Melissa pressed her hands together in a pleading gesture.  Verona shook her head, making a face.

Sharon was an arty kid, like Pamela, but also a Dancer.  Jeremy was an arty kid and a ‘nerd’, and was someone Lucy wished Verona would talk to more, because they probably had a lot in common.  Wallace was a gamer and a nerd.  And so it went.  Being a nerd didn’t mean someone wasn’t cool.  Amadeus was super into science and computers, but he was maybe the most popular guy in class… helped by the fact he was cute, with long black hair and a dimple at his chin.  George was popular, but Lucy was pretty sure he was what Lucy’s older brother had once termed a ‘pebbler’, a baby stoner who hadn’t actually gotten stoned yet.  But George was a bit of everything.

No hard cliques, no specific sections at lunch tables like that one movie from years before Lucy was born, but Avery had had a tough time, and there were reasons for that.

For one thing, the class was kind of cut in half, because they were combined grade eights and nines.  For another, when put together with the other grade nine class, they had all known each other since kindergarten.  She could count the kids who had moved away and the kids who had moved here midway through on the one hand.  The friendships had been established, and barring invitations like the one Verona kept getting, that was hard to butt into.

Three of the dancers walked in near lockstep along the back of the class, before turning down past Lucy and her group.

“Hey,” Hailey said, as they stopped, standing behind where Lucy, Avery, and Verona sat.

“Hey,” Verona said.

“Melissa really wants you to join us for dance.  She says you’re a natural.”

“I wish she could take no for an answer.”

“No?”

“Really, no.  I did the one dancing thing two years ago when the instructor from Wavy Tree came to teach a gym class, and I hear about it way too often.”

“Some girls were saying you’re arrogant, and you’re looking down on us,” Mia said, accusatory.

“What?” Verona asked, shocked.  “Haha, no.  Really.”

“Really?”

“It’s just really not my thing.  I find it boring to do and keep doing until you get it right.  I’ve rooted for you guys when you do an event or a parade or whatever.  Just… not for me.”

“Hm.  Want us to tell her to knock it off?”

“Please.  Please, please, please.”

“Cool,” Hailey said.

Lucy felt her pocket vibrate.

Before she could reach for her phone, she saw others reacting.

All together.

There was an energy to it.  The tension, the emotions.  With everything that had been going on, she felt like it was the kind of thing that someone might want to harness, or already be harnessing.

She used her Sight, looking out over the class, while she got her phone free of her pocket.

Some kids with knives in their heads or bodies.  Some kids with blood-red watercolor at their hands.

But they were ordinary students.  And the phones themselves… nothing.

She looked.  There was a notification from the app.  Class_RankR.  Their class had ranked everyone, each student picking a first and possible second person they liked.

“Huh,” Hailey said, still standing behind them.

“Hey,” Mia said.  “Go Avery.  And Verona-”

Hailey elbowed her.  “Let’s go sit.”

Lucy looked over the list.

Kids who had been out in the hall were staying out in the hall, talking and looking at the results.  Some looked into the room, and Lucy felt the gaze of more than a few people fall on her.

Her face flushed.

“Just me, huh?” Avery asked, quiet.

Lucy was already staring at the bottom, but she scrolled down a bit more, to the stats at the foot of it.

By the results, two anonymous guys were gay.  Another was bi.

One anonymous girl was a lesbian.

“There’s the other class,” Lucy said.

“Already asked, and no.  One guy, no girls,” Avery said.  Her face had fallen, and to Lucy’s Sight, she had a dark watercolor stain spreading across her chest, like a growing hole.

There were others in the room who seemed brighter, others who seemed hurt.  There were a few swords and blades represented in Lucy’s sight.

As people entered the room, murmuring, Lucy felt conspicuous, her face felt hot.

“There could be girls that haven’t figured it out yet,” Verona whispered.

“That doesn’t do me any good now, does it?  Feels lonely.”

Verona nodded.  “Yeah.  But like Lucy said, the whole thing’s stupid, right?  There’s lots of people like me who don’t really give a shit and put in whatever.  It doesn’t matter, so let’s just ignore it and wait for it to blow over.”

Verona made a hand motion Lucy couldn’t see.

“Sure,” Avery said, putting her phone away a little too quickly.

Lucy watched the room, avoiding eye contact, because everyone that was looking at her right now was thinking the same thing.

It would have been a relief at this point, she felt, if the entire stupid thing was magical.  Some kind of curse, or some kind of shitty stupid magic puzzle or whatever.  But she didn’t see anything like that.

She wondered if she could somehow see the blade that was sticking through herself, or the watercolor stains that were spreading across her, what would they look like?  How big would it be?

That heavy, overwhelming feeling that she hadn’t seemed to be able to process all last night had come with her to school today, and it had expanded by inches over the last few minutes, until it kinda hurt constantly.

She sighed, slumping down over her desk, her arms extending forward and over the other end.  Head on one arm, she looked over and murmured, “Am I ugly?”

“Nah,” Verona said.

“Avery?  Expert opinion?”

“I’m not an expert,” Avery said.  “You keep saying my taste is terrible.”

“I’ve said it maybe three times.”

“You’re pretty, Lucy.  Not my type, and I’m pretty sure you’re not gay, which makes you very not my type, but… people are dumb, I guess.”

“You could be a lot of people’s third choices,” Verona suggested.  Then, “You’re kind of intimidating.  Maybe that’s it.”

“I’m a bitch, you mean.  And I don’t want to be a lot of people’s third choices,” Lucy said.  “I want to be someone’s first choice.”

“Sorry.”

“Whose dumb idea was this?” Lucy asked.  “I might have a few choice words for them, said three times, nailed in.”

“Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Yeah,” Lucy said.  “Ugh.  I feel like I’d be like, twenty times more able to deal with this if I’d slept more than two and a half hours last night.”

At the far corner of the classroom, Gabe rose from his seat.  Lucy noticed primarily because of the twisted skewer of metal that her Sight put in his midsection.  As she followed him with her eyes, she saw him pick up his bag, and it was soaked with the red watercolor, impaled at the same point by three smaller blades.

She watched as he left the classroom, reaching for her phone, and flipping over to check the boys’ ranking.

Gabe was at the bottom.

She rose from her seat.  A lot of eyes followed her, as they’d followed Gabe.

“Luce?” Verona asked.

“I’m cool.  Checking on Gabe.  Something’s off.”

She went back for her bag, grabbing it as a just-in-case.

She almost missed Gabe, who was ducking into the boy’s bathroom.

With only a moment’s hesitation, she followed him in, finding him by the sink.  He was the only one in.

“Gabe,” she said.

Gabe wore glasses and dressed like he was going to church, and aside from a sorta lame haircut and a really skinny frame, there wasn’t anything offensive or exceptional about him.  He was one of the homeschooled kids who’d come over when High School had started.  He hadn’t really come to the school with any hint of social skills, had struggled like Avery had, and instead of finding a way forward, had taken to hanging around with kids two and three years younger than him, who sometimes seemed annoyed that he kept turning up.

It kind of sucked that she was being put in the same bucket as him.

“What the-  You can’t be in here!” Gabe said.

“If I get suspended, I’ll deal.  You okay?”

“It’s whatever.”

“It sucks,” she said.  “What’s in your bag?”

“What?”

“Your bag,” she said.  She approached him.  He backed up.

She closed the distance, grabbed him and spun him partially around.  Pulling down his backpack’s zipper, she fished inside.

He seemed more confused than defensive.

Moving a paper, she saw the blades rattle.  She pulled it out, and the red staining immediately began to fade from the fabric of his bag.

One paper, a grey-pink color, with a less than great photocopying or print job, like two things superimposed onto the same paper, with the end result being near-gibberish.

Most of it was faded and stained in a way that persisted even with her Sight removed.  Most distinct was the website at the bottom.

“Where did you get this?”

“I found it.  What the hell?  How did you know I had it?”

“Have you done it?”

“Done what?  I logged in, but I didn’t sign up.  I couldn’t figure it out.  It has to be on certain nights.”

“Don’t.  You might get really badly hurt, or worse,” she said.  “When’s the next night?”

“Tomorrow night.  Why?”

“Where’d you find it?”

“In the cafeteria.  You’re not answering my questions.”

“Not really, not so far,” she said.  She left the boy’s bathroom, pausing at the door.  “I’m around if you want to talk or whatever, I guess.”

An older high schooler whistled as she left.  She rolled her eyes.  Whistles were better than the looks she’d gotten back in the classroom.

“Avery, Verona,” she whispered.  She used her sight, and reached out, finding the ribbons that seemed clearest and most inclined to drift her way.  Would that work the same way calling Miss had?

The two girls emerged from the classroom.

Lucy looked down, ready to show them the paper, and found her hand empty.  She spun around, looking with the Sight, and found the paper, folded into a square, tucked into the slats of an unused locker.

“Don’t run away,” she told the paper, unfolding it again.  She showed the others, moving to stand beside them as she pulled her phone out.

“The Hungry Choir?” Avery asked, tapping the paper.

“Sending out feelers, found Gabe, who’s vulnerable, I guess,” Lucy said.  “As the stupid app just demonstrated.”

“It’s nice to have a distraction,” Verona said.  “How did you even see this?”

“I think I can see hurt and danger,” Lucy murmured.  She punched in the website address.

USER BLOCKED.

Verona tried next.  She was in the middle of typing when the bell rang, signaling the start of class.

“Blocked,” Verona said.  “So is this the Hungry Choir itself, or…?”

Lucy shook her head.  “Part of it.  Like an arm or a finger, or…”

“You can’t see the connections?” Avery asked.  “More than one arm or finger, here.”

“I see…  sashes, but that’s all.”

Gabe walked past them.

“Bands,” Avery said, once he was past.  She turned, craning her head, looking at windows, both inside classrooms and at the end of the hallway.  “I can see stretching through the school.  This paper is tied to four things in our school.  I think there might be others, faint, that extend outside our school, maybe outside of Kennet?”

The teacher stood in the doorway, whistling sharply to get their attention.  He motioned for them to get inside the classroom.

“Lunchtime,” Lucy said.  “We need to call and talk to Miss.  I don’t like all this bloody watercolor I’m seeing in Kennet, when there wasn’t much outside of it.”

“Bloody handprints for me.”

“Meaty things pressing against the inside of the plastic sheeting,” Verona added.  “Yeah.”

They made their way into the class, past their homeroom teacher.

“Between the bloodiness and the Choir, I get the feeling there’s more going on, like maybe not having a Carmine Beast is making things worse somehow,” Lucy whispered, as she took her seat.

“Do we really want to tackle more?” Avery asked.

“If it’s tied to the Carmine, we might have to,” Lucy whispered.

Between them, Verona had the paper, which she folded into a square.  She drew out a diagram with a surprisingly circular hand-drawn circle, setting up a group of blocks pointing inward, toward the folded-up paper.

The teacher was getting the class to quiet down.

Lucy leaned over, to whisper one last time before class started, “Miss might be the person to ask, because Gabe said the next stage of the Choir thing happens tomorrow night.  We might need to get involved, or people could get hurt.”

Avery

Last Thursday: Flyer & App

---

Low-quality shoes squeaked on the gymnasium floor as the other kids ran, stopped, changed direction.  Avery twisted, running through a gap between Melissa and Alexa as they tried to block her.

She was faster, she could run for longer.  All she had to do was break through, force them to run after, and tire them out.  Thirty minutes into the game, they were already walking half the time and halfheartedly running the other half.

There were three basketballs bouncing intermittently, which made it hard for her to train her ears and use her situational awareness.  On the other half of the gym, the boys were playing.  Wallace was sitting out, which he did a lot of the time.  She didn’t know how his phys ed marks were, or if there was a reason, but for right now, her main concern was that he was killing time while sitting on the bench by dribbling a basketball.  Periodically he’d do something wrong and have to chase it a few steps.

It meant she had to use her eyes and twist around more to keep track of the ball, so the auditory illusion of the other balls bouncing didn’t communicate something else.

“Ave!” Lucy called out.

Lucy’s pass went high.  Avery caught it, then took off.  Immediately, she realized she was surrounded by three players.  They converged on her as a line, trying to force her off the court, or force a retreat back toward her own hoop.

Frustrating, but not in a bad way.

Avery’s eyes opened wider, her pupils narrowed, and the ‘real’ world peeled away.  The floor was shrouded in the faintest of mists, the unimportant details flaked away like peeling paint in a high wind, and it was just her, the people on the field, a court of handprints and footprints, and a mess of the bands all around her, strung between players and between herself and the others.  The ones from herself were harder to see.

“Pam!” she called out.  She saw one of the bands stir.  Using it as a guide for general direction, without really looking, she spiked the ball into the ground, halfway between Melissa and Alexa.  It carried on, straight toward Pam.

“Ah!  Scared me!” she heard Pam.

Caught the other team off guard too.  Melissa and Alexa were distracted by the pass, Emerson was in her way.  She squeezed past.

“Pass to Avery!” Lucy called out.

Verona was out there.  That band seemed familiar, stronger, and clearer.  Verona was on the other team.  She would be closing in on Pam.

“But-”

Hailey was closing in on Pam too.  Hailey could actually steal balls in a way that didn’t suck.

“Pass!” Lucy called out.

The remaining three girls changed direction, converging on Avery.

Avery saw the movements and reactions, the bands that stretched between things rippling, as a single action made each one change, bend, and adjust.

One tenuous band connected to the ball, a wisp of something that could be mistaken for a long, dark cobweb in this gymnasium, where the ground was misty and the air above the mist was thick with dust and flecks of the ‘paint’.

She was ready as the ball came at her, and caught it.  Emerson right behind her.

And she was close to the hoop.

She made the easy shot, a layup off the backboard.  Even though it was an easy shot, there was still a moment where she thought it would be a miss.  She wondered if she could say something and influence the outcome.  She kept her mouth shut, eyes wide, breathing hard through her nose.  It tilted and went in.

“God damn it!” Emerson complained.

“Language!” the gym teacher barked.  “I think it’s time to rotate!  Avery, Pamela, and let’s see…”

“Me!” Verona called out.

“You can stay out there a bit longer.  I want to see you trying more, that goes for the rest of you whose names I don’t call!”

Melissa, bent over, hands on her knees, raised one of her hands over her head.  She was panting for breath.

“Melissa, Alexa.  Mia, lose the jersey, switch teams.”

The four players on the bench, Mia included, got up, jogging out onto the court.  Avery turned sideways to navigate between them, giving Verona a nod as she walked by.

“Cheating?” Verona asked.  Her eyes flashed that weird almost-purple color.

“How do you even cheat at basketball?” Melissa complained, undoing the band that tied up her ponytail.  Her hair had been crimped, and was tied back into a high ponytail that still touched her shoulderblades.  With the ponytail undone, it came closer to the middle of her back.

“She practices at stuff.  For fun.  It’s ridiculous and I’m calling it cheating,” Verona said.

Avery shook her head.

The way the gym was set up, the two courts were set up so they could be separated by a divider.  There were benches arranged, and right now the boys on the bench sat so their backs were to the girls as they took their seats. Some boys twisted around to look or watch the girls play.

That fact reminded Avery that she had gotten those ‘likes’.  It reminded her that her own like had gone unanswered.  That she was alone.

Today was going to suck.  It might even suck more than yesterday, and yesterday –last night– was the day they got ambushed by John Stiles.

It sucked.  It really sucked.  It confirmed what she’d suspected and feared and she really wanted to talk to Ms. Hardy about it at some point during lunch or after school, but Verona and Lucy wanted to do something at lunch and she couldn’t really talk about the app with Ms. Hardy without getting people in trouble.  Adults went nuclear about the dumbest things.

She sat at the end of the bench.  Pamela seated herself beside Avery.

The thrill of that fact blurred into the fact her heart was still racing from running around, the whiplash of thinking today would suck to thinking today might not suck, to being very aware that Pamela radiated body heat and was right next to her, to the half-thought internal debate that Pamela might have sat next to her on purpose.  Was that just because Pamela was nice?  Had there been empty seats on the bench before Pamela sat down?

Her Sight was more farsighted than not, which was a pain, because she really would have liked to see and study the band that stretched between her and Pamela.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, to put Pamela out of her peripheral vision and try to find an equilibrium when her number-two crush was sitting next to her.

“You’re good,” Pamela said, huffing for breath.

“Thank you,” Avery said, her eyes closed as she focused on breathing and sounding normal.  She wasn’t really sure how to answer, but hearing Pamela say something nice about her was so… so nice.  She felt a bit dizzy from it.  “I’d be better if I could get the ball through the hoop, or run full speed while dribbling.  Hailey’s way better than I am.”

“Hailey plays basketball regularly,” Melissa said, from further down the bench.  “You’re really good, considering it’s not your sport.”

“I’m-” Avery responded, couldn’t find the words or the breath, and just shook her head, eyes on the ground.

She looked up to the side, further down the bench, and saw Pamela looking at her.  Making eye contact with her.  Surrounded by a nimbus of the bands that connected her to others.  Avery’s eyes dropped to the floor again.

It was criminal that Pamela hadn’t gotten more votes with the stupid app.  When Avery had come to this school, because Sheridan was already going, Kerry wanted to come because her friends were attending for first grade, Avery had thought it would be cool, that she’d meet new people.  It would be a distraction from Olivia abandoning her to go play for Swanson.  Then it had been worse.  It had been distilled loneliness.

One of the things that had kept her going had been this girl who really did light up the room.  Who gave out compliments and said positive things more often than most of the girls in class smiled.  Who never had a mean thing to say about anyone.  Just seeing her around gave Avery something to look forward to.

Avery couldn’t understand how girls could talk about boys like dimples and hair were what mattered.  She had the feeling boys were the same or worse.  Why would anyone want to go out with someone and spend time with someone just to look at them more, when they could spend time -or the rest of their lives- with someone who made the days brighter?

It wasn’t even that Pamela was unattractive.  Avery had heard Pamela saying something self-depreciating in class once, about how she was fat and clothes didn’t sit right.  That had been back when Avery herself hadn’t opened her mouth in class for weeks, and she’d wanted so badly to say something to Pamela, to convince her that no, she was cute, she was curvy.  That she loved the way she changed up her hair color every couple of weeks, that she liked her body more than… more than just about anything.

Avery had thought she might be gay or bi before that, but after that thought process she’d been ninety five to one hundred percent sure about a lot of things.  Her interactions with Ms. Hardy had turned that ‘sure’ to ‘certain’.

She wished so badly she could say a lot of things to Pamela, so this girl that didn’t even know she’d helped Avery through the worst time of her life could shake off some of her demons.

Avery had mostly caught her breath, now.  She glanced up- saw Pamela was looking at her again, and made her eye slide to the side, to look at Melissa and Alexa, who were talking.

On the bench behind her, Gabe sat with some of the other boys.  They were crammed in, kind of.  More boys in the class, more boys on the bench.

“Hey, Avery?” Pamela said.  There was a rising note at the end, like maybe Pamela wasn’t one hundred percent sure of Avery’s name.  That wasn’t super uncommon.

“What’s up?” Avery asked.  Did I look at her too much?

“You kept passing to me,” Pamela spoke the words with a breathless laugh.  “Scared me.”

“Sorry,” Avery said.  She made herself look away.  Watched Lucy cut Alayna off.  Verona was hanging back, occupying space on the court where there weren’t many players.  She wasn’t trying very hard, so Avery’s team wasn’t trying very hard to cover her.  “Uh, you were there.”

Verona caught a pass and passed to the next player almost immediately.  Not really paying much attention to the flow of the game so much as she was avoiding doing much.

“I don’t mind, I was just surprised.  You’re a good player, I kind of thought you’d ignore crappy players like me.”

“You catch the ball, you pass it.  That’s most of the game, isn’t it?” Avery asked.

Pamela smiled.  Avery experienced a deer in the headlights moment, hyperaware of the fact that looking away would be way too obvious, and staring would be weird, and-

She settled on an answering smile, before a shout from the coach rescued her.

“Lucy!  Stop being aggressive!”

“I haven’t touched anyone!  I’m not breaking rules!”

“Stop.  Being.  Aggressive!  Or you can spend the lunch hour with me-”

The boys were causing a commotion, with some shouting and talking over one another.

“-in the staff room, talking about bullying and ways to conduct yourself with classmates.  What’s going on over here?”

“Brayden got fouled!” Xavier complained.  “Blatantly.”

“He stopped dead in his tracks right in front of me!” Logan retorted.

And the gym teacher hadn’t seen.

“Enough!  There’s a few minutes left of class.  I want Logan and Brayden to run laps around the gym’s edge.  Quick now!”

“But!”

“Now!  And anyone who complains or mentions it again is running laps as well.  Go.  Back to the game.  Ian, Bryan, off the bench.”

There were a chorus of complaints.

Avery watched the room, saw girls taking notice of the thing with the boys, and with her Sight, she could see the variations in the bands that connected them.  She’d noticed the parts of the app where the girls and boys had gotten mutual likes, and now that she knew which girls to look at, she could See the differences in those connections.

It made her acutely aware of how few connections she had.  Lucy, Verona, and then tethers extending elsewhere, for the various members of her family.  The bands that stretched from the boy’s side of the gym reached for her back, thinning out as they got closer to her, until the ragged ends only barely brushed against her back.

Sucked.  It really sucked.

Lucy had mostly given up on playing, for the most part.  Could she even risk detention, if she’d said stuff earlier about her plans for lunch?  That was something they’d have to be careful of.

Lucy had to feel at least as bad.

The ties that connected Lucy to her classmates seemed to be stronger, or… older, maybe.  They’d been classmates for a long time.  They knew each other.  But there wasn’t a lot else.

Verona’s positioning on the court put her close to the bench.  She got Avery’s attention, then indicated Gabe, who was sitting behind Avery.

Avery twisted around, looked at Gabe, then back to Verona, giving her friend a shrug and a look of confusion.

Verona gestured, motioning for her to say or do something.

I can’t read your mind.

“Move along, Verona!” the gym teacher barked.

Avery felt multiple eyes on her, and flushed.  One set of eyes was Pamela, who mouthed Gabe’s name.

Avery shook her head, shrugging.

So dumb.  It felt like everything she did was making her feelings blatant or creating misunderstandings.  How many times had she passed the ball to Pamela?  She’d been in the zone.  Then the weird eye contact when she’d looked Pamela’s way.  Now Verona was so stuck on the other stuff that she was putting the spotlight on Avery.

Sucked.  So frustrating.

She was aware of the glances she got, and the connections that radiated out from her to connect her to classmates seemed more intense than they had been at the start of the match.

And there was only one connection she really cared about.  If she looked, really focusing her eyes, she could sorta see the band that extended between her and Pamela.

It wasn’t like it was with any of the mutual like ones, and that stung, but each band had translucent images or cut-outs in them.  Like a row of pictures.  She wanted to interpret, to make them out, and find out if there was anything useful in that, but they shifted every time her eyes moved, like dust on the surface of her eye.

More than anything, the texture and consistency of the band was a reminder that this awesome, warm, likeable girl didn’t like her.

She shut off her Sight, pressing her eyes closed.

Opening her eyes again, she saw the world as she normally would.  Wood covered in track marks from cheap sneakers skidding on it… and a tether, in the corner of her eye.  Mist, handprints.

Alarmed, her head moving, she looked for the part of the Sight that hadn’t gone away, and it moved with her head.

One third of her left eye was stuck on the Sight, like a blurriness that wouldn’t go away, but it was a different picture, darker, mistier, with handprints, some bloody.

She rubbed at it with her thumb, and it didn’t correct.  She rubbed harder, using the heel of her hand.

“What’s wrong?” Pamela asked.

“Um.”  Avery tried to will it away again, then rubbed harder.

A little panicky now.

She didn’t want to turn on her sight and turn it off again, if that could be the next step to things getting weirder or worse, but she didn’t know what else to do.

“Mr. Bader,” Pamela said.

“What’s wrong?”

“My eye,” Avery said, quiet.  “It’s… weird.”

Boys in the background were making another commotion, hooting and jeering and being loud.

“Do you need to go to the school nurse?”

The school nurse couldn’t do anything.  “Just… can I go to the bathroom?”

“Go.”

She stood, and Pamela stood with her, one hand on her back and one hand on her arm, to steady her and give her direction.  In any other circumstance it would have been so nice, having Pamela be nice to her in specific, but right now she just wanted her eye back to working like it was supposed to.

What did she do wrong?  Was it a lie she told before, that made something break?  If it was, was it broken forever?

She was aware of Verona and Lucy giving her concerned looks.  In that one corner of Avery’s eye where her Sight was stuck, she saw Verona’s eyes as purple again.  Lucy’s as red where they should be white.

“Pamela, if her eye is still bothering her, take her straight to the nurse?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be right with you.  Okay guys and girls!  We’ll end a minute early! Balls in the bins, take your jerseys off and in the laundry.  Then change and shower.  Emphasis on the shower!  Your afternoon teachers will kill me if you’re sitting there all afternoon reeking of B.O.”

She and Pamela left the school gym and in the short L-shaped corridor with the bathrooms and change rooms, took a detour into the bathroom.  She reached for the taps, turning them on.  She splashed her eye, trying to get as much water in it as she could.

“Are you okay?” Pamela asked.  Her hand rubbed Avery’s back.

“I don’t know.  A little freaked,” Avery admitted.

“Can you describe it?”

“I don’t know.”

Was it better?  She couldn’t tell, with the way the water stuck to her eyelashes.

“I know sometimes my eye will get this muscle twitch and it freaked me out when it first happened.  Is it like that?”

“No.  It’s blurry and misty and intense, stuck that way, no matter what I do.”

“Maybe a retinal detachment?  That happened to my mom once.  She had a dark blot in the middle of her vision for a while.  I think you have to get immediate help if that happens.”

“No.  It’s not…” Avery stopped, and focused on just washing her eye.

There was a commotion as the rest of the class left the gymnasium, heading to the change rooms.

“Avery?  How’s it?” Mr. Bader called through the door.  It was cracked open, and she could see a bit of his shoulder and shorts.  He stood with his back to the door.

“Better, I think,” Avery said, quiet, before washing again.

“She says it’s better,” Pamela said, moving away from Avery so she stood halfway to the door.

“Are you positive?”

Avery washed for a second, holding up one finger for Pamela.

“One second,” Pamela said.  “She’s rinsing.”

“Okay.”

The door opened, and Verona and Lucy came in.  They went straight to her side.

“Do you want me to stick around?” Pamela asked.

Yes.

“…Because if you want it, I’ll stick around for whatever you need.  I’ve got a lunch date with my dad, but I can postpone or cancel.”

“I think we’ve got it,” Verona said.

“It’s fine,” Avery said.  “Go to lunch with your dad.  Thank you.  Really.”

Pamela nodded.

“Can I get an update?” Mr. Bader called in, as Pamela exited.

“I think it’s-” Avery tested.  Her vision was normal now.  “It’s better.”

“Alright.  Come find me if you need me.  I can take you to the nurse’s office if you decide it’s not better enough.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bader.”

“Lucy, Verona, don’t forget to change and shower.  Avery, same thing, when you can.”

The door closed.

“Dick,” Lucy muttered.

“I think he’s nice,” Avery said.

“Who would forget to change?” Verona asked.  “And what happened?”

“My Sight got stuck in one part of my eye.”

“It’s better?”

“I said it’s better.”

“Were you looking at anything specific?” Lucy asked.

“No.  Nothing special.”

“Weird.  I think that’s all the more reason to talk to Miss right away.”

“Let’s,” Avery said.

“You good?” Verona asked.

“I hope so.”

The three of them left the bathroom and entered the girl’s change room.  Avery brought her hand to her eye to shield part of her view, with the excuse it was still awkward, her eyes dropping to the floor.  She navigated through the girls of her class, not looking at anyone or anything, to where her bag was hung up on a hook.

She felt too many eyes on her, especially after her little commotion a few minutes ago.

Grabbing her bag, she slung it over one shoulder and slipped back out, heading back to the bathroom.  She went into a toilet stall, and did her change of clothes there, stepping on the tops of her shoes to avoid stepping on the bathroom floor.

Her lunch usually had napkins or wet wipes, and she was grateful that there was a wet wipe in hers.  She fished the ziploc of wipes out of the brown paper bag, then wiped herself down before getting changed back into her regular clothes.

The feeling of having something wrong with her eye and knowing there was no doctor, no greater support structure, it had shaken her, like being as alone as she’d been back in the winter and start of the year.  Combined with being the odd one out, no pairings in the app, knowing from the Sight that Pamela didn’t return her feelings, and then the change room, the showers, feeling like she was one wrong look away from being found out…

She’d never felt so out of place.

She ran a comb through her hair.

Mia, hair wet, stepped into the bathroom, walking up to a sink two sinks down from Avery.  She got out a makeup kit, and began fixing up her face.

“Hows your eye?” Mia asked, as she put on mascara.

“It’s okay now, I think.  I wish I knew what happened.”

“Spook.  I hope it’s a one time thing.”

“So do I.”

There was silence.  Avery could hear the commotion of boys in the little L-shaped hallway.  Too numerous to all have showered.  Not that she was in a position to point fingers, but she’d done something.

Avery didn’t really have anything to do at the mirror but didn’t really want to go out there into the middle of all that.

“Are you the lesbian?” Mia asked.

Avery didn’t move a muscle.

“From the app,” Mia asked.

“Uh, what?” Avery asked.

Mia turned her head, the little pad of foundation held up an inch from her cheek.  “My friends were wondering aloud who it could be.  I thought maybe it was you, and I don’t want to be a jerk or anything, so… don’t feel like you have to respond.”

“Awkward,” Avery said, quiet.  She kind of wished she was in a position to draw a connection breaking diagram right now, and keep it up forever, just to get away from this.

Mia resumed putting on her makeup.  “Yeah, like… there’s this girl at the dance studio, seventeen, I think.  And she’s great.  Great dancer, does acro gymnastics, acro dance.  She’s gay and like, nobody cares.  So if you were gay and you were avoiding the showers because of that, I wouldn’t worry about it.  You don’t have to make up eye problems.”

“Wasn’t made up,” Avery said.  She looked at Mia.

Mia winced.  “Ew, yeah, a bit bloodshot.”

“Yep,” Avery said.  Probably from me rubbing it too hard.

“I hope that people are cool if the lesbian in class comes out.  I know if anyone talks shit, me and my friends will give them the hard time, not her.  Same goes for the boys.”

“Makes sense.  That’s good of you.”

Mia smiled at her, before packing up her makeup stuff.  “You’re cool, Avery.  There’s next to nothing to do in this town, so we throw parties sometimes.  If you want to be in the loop, just ask.  I can fill you in whenever we’re at the planning stage.  Standing invite.”

“Ah, thank you.  Sorry, I’m still freaked out about the eye thing, I’m not really processing everything.”

“Nah, that’s cool.  But like… give me an objective opinion.  When my friends are wondering aloud about the lesbian in our class, should I try and throw them off the trail?”

“I don’t know,” Avery said.  “I’m not like…”

She stopped.  Mia looked at her.

“…Not really trying to hide it,” she said, quiet.  She stared at her eye, half-bloodshot, in the mirror.  “Not broadcasting it either.  Don’t want it to get back to my family, kinda.  My siblings are a pain sometimes, and my grumble- my grandfather.  Best case scenario is he’d worry and fuss and I don’t want him to worry and fuss.”

“What’s the worst case scenario?”

Avery shrugged.  “Maybe I wouldn’t be his favorite anymore.  Just the opposite.”

Mia frowned.  “I know it’s like, really tone deaf, but it’s cute as hell that you call him Grumble.”

Avery shrugged.

“Sorry.  Do your friends know?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad you’ve got them, then.  And you’ve got me if you need anything.  Ask whenever.”

The door opened, and Avery jumped a little, despite herself.  Melissa, who went straight to one of the stalls, closing the door.

“Standing invite,” Mia said, picking up her stuff.

“Standing invite to what?” Melissa asked, from the stall.

“To parties or whatever we’re doing,” Mia said.

“Oh, I thought you were asking her to come to the dance studio,” Melissa said, through the door.

Avery rolled her eyes a little.

Mia gave her a small wave, then stepped out into the hallway.  Mia, who was so adult-like sometimes, so together, that she made Avery feel like twice as much of a kid.

Thing is, Avery thought, as she got her bag together, making sure her lunch wouldn’t empty out in her bag, since she’d opened it to get the wet wipes, I don’t want to be ‘the’ lesbian.

She felt more alone and out of place than before she had gotten Mia’s overture of friendship and support.

Feeling awkward, she left the bathroom.  The boys were lined up at one side of the hallway, the girls at the other.  Avery glanced at Mia, who was talking to Hailey.  She’d had a niggling worry that Mia would be talking to a cluster of the Dancers, laughing at her.  She wasn’t.

Mr. Bader did his thing where he touched everyone’s head, counting the students.

“Did you wash that hair, Jeremy?  Looks like you wet it under the tap.”

“I washed it, my hair dries fast,” Jeremy said, looking innocent.  The moment Mr. Bader was past, he smirked and shook his head ‘no’.

Mr Bader moved on to counting the girls.  Avery felt him touch her dry hair.

“How’s the eye?  Still good?”

“It’s better.”

“Good.  I don’t want to see you skipping any more showers.”

“Yessir.”

He moved on, counting Verona and Lucy, at the tail.

“Did you wash your hair, Lucy?”

“I don’t wash it at school.”

“You need to at least run it under water.”

“No I don’t.”

“Excuse me?”

The bell rang, and the assembled students immediately broke rank, some almost running in their haste to get to lunch.

Avery took Lucy’s hand and tugged her along.  They fled Mr. Bader.

“Dick,” Lucy muttered.

“Were you actually being aggressive, back in class?” Avery asked.  “I was distracted.”

“Yeah, kinda?” Lucy answered.  “Hailey’s really good, but it’s easy to put her off her game.  Get in her way, get in her face.  I wasn’t touching her or breaking any rules, though.  Mr. Bader’s still a dick.”

“You said that three times,” Verona said.  “Curse?”

“Didn’t nail it in.  Gotta drive the point home.”

“Too bad,” Verona said.

Most of the kids were heading to the lunch hall, but there were some who made the rather tight trip to the fast food places.  Especially the teenagers.  It was a twenty minute walk there and a twenty minute walk back, and they only had fifty minutes for lunch.  Those with bikes or cars could usually make it.  For the others, there was a risk that the line would be too long, forcing them to choose between going hungry or being late back.

Avery, Lucy, and Verona left the school.  As they passed the parking lot, Lucy made a hard detour.

“Luce?”

“I see someone.”

“I was talking to Gabe after changing,” Verona said.  “We weren’t sure where you went.  I thought I’d ask him about the flyer.”

“I wish you hadn’t,” Lucy said.

“I also asked Caroline, since she was next to me in line.  Gabe can read the letters and Caroline couldn’t.  I think it depends on who reads it.”

“Good to know,” Lucy said.

“Where are we going?  I thought we’d ask Miss about my eye and stuff.”

“Soon,” Lucy said.  “Shh.”

They approached some teenagers, who were gathering around a car, ready to drive off.  They looked like eleventh or twelfth graders.

“Excuse me,” Lucy said.

“No rides.”

Lucy reached for Verona, opened the back flap of her bag, and pulled out the flyer, folded into another piece of paper.

One of the teenagers, a dark haired girl with sunglasses on, pushed her way past the others, reaching for Lucy.  Lucy backed away.

“Woah!  Back off!”

When she couldn’t get a grip on Lucy’s wrist, the teenager grabbed Lucy’s shoulder, and tugged her away from the car.  Avery and Verona followed, anxious, Verona reaching back to close up her bag as she jogged to keep up.

The teenage girl grabbed the flyer and unfolded it.  A second later, she grabbed Lucy’s wrist, pushing up Lucy’s sleeve.  If Lucy was going to fight back, she seemed to hesitate.  The hand that gripped her had only a thumb, index finger, and middle finger.  The rest was smooth skin over bumpy tissue.

A moment later, the teenager turned on Verona, who backed away a step, pushing up her own sleeve to show her arm.

“I’m keeping this,” the teenager said, holding up the flyer.

“We’ll need it back, actually,” Lucy said, “And we have questions.”

“Leave it be.  Ignore it.”

Verona lunged, and her hand moved a bit, grabbing at nothing, before the paper partially unfolded on its own.  She managed to snag the corner of it and pluck it out of the teenager’s hand.  Avery blocked, stepping into the way before the teenager could follow up.

The teenager’s friends were just standing back, watching.

Avery really wished she could use and trust her Sight, just to get a better sense of what was going on.

“Show us your arm?” Lucy asked, indicating the teenager’s long sleeve.

“No.  You need to let this go.  Walk away from it.  Don’t have anything to do with it.”

“Full moon tonight?” Verona asked.  “Kennet.  What does it mean?”

“You’re not listening to me.”

“We hear you.  As of right now, we’re not planning on participating.  But we need answers.  There are more like you in our school alone.”

“I know one of them.  Listen to me.  Don’t visit the website.  Don’t reserve.  Don’t get involved.”

“Full moon in Kennet?” Verona asked, stepping forward.

“I’m not answering your questions.  I’m doing you a favor when I’m telling you to leave this alone.  It’s bad.”

“Full moon in Kennet?” Verona asked again, reaching out to grab the teenager’s sleeve.  The teenager jerked back, hesitated.

Relented.  “It’s better to go there, than to make them come get you.  The moon’s the date.  The place is the location.”

The teenager wrenched her sleeve out of Verona’s grip, pushed it up.

There were four circles there.  One white, one with a crescent in it, the rest filled in black, one half-filled in with black, and one with a dark crescent in it.

“One for each phase of the moon?” Verona asked.

“I’m halfway through.  People turn up, different counts.  I haven’t seen anyone make it through all eight nights.”

The guy in the driver’s seat honked.

“What happens?” Verona asked.

“It’s on the website.”

“The website’s blocked for all three of us,” Verona said.

“Great!  Fantastic!” the teenager said, “Never heard of that happening, but I’m glad.  It means you’re not in it.  Leave it alone.  I’m not an awful enough person to give you the ropes to hang yourselves with, okay?  I’m not telling you more.”

“But-” Verona started.

“Listen!” the teenager hissed, leaning in close.  Her voice became a harsh whisper.  “I probably won’t last the full eight rounds, so do me a favor.  Unless I get crazy lucky, I’ve got a bit over two weeks left, max.  It could be that today and tomorrow are my last days I can spend with my friends and family.  Let me enjoy them without being bothered.”

“You really believe you won’t make it,” Lucy said.

“I’ve seen people better than I am in every way fail,” the teenager told them in that harsh whisper.  She stood straight, then began to retreat back toward the car with her friends in it.  She moved with a bit of a limp, Avery noted.  At a normal volume, she said, “Better than you.  So don’t even try.  Tell yourself it’s a bad prank.”

She slammed the car door after her.  Avery watched the girl field questions from her friends.

“She’s missing an eye,” Verona said.

“What?” Avery asked.

“She’s missing two fingers, you probably noticed that.  But behind the sunglasses, she’s missing an eye, I think she’s missing an ear.  The skin’s smooth, like it’s been like that for a while.”

“She walked with a limp,” Avery said.

“Yep,” Lucy said.  “You shouldn’t be using your Sight, Verona.  Not until we know what happened to Avery.”

Verona shrugged.

“And how did you know it said ‘full moon in Kennet?'” Lucy asked.  “Did Gabe say so?”

“Nah.”

“Nah,” Lucy echoed.  “You’re just annoyingly good at stuff that doesn’t usually matter, which makes you weirdly good at all of this.”

“Yeah,” Verona said.

Avery shifted her weight from foot to foot.

“Um… can we go talk to Miss?” Avery asked.  “Please?”

“Yeah,” Lucy said.  “Sorry, was just… they were right there.”

“I don’t mind, but I’m really ready for some answers, now.”

◬

Avery ate her lunch as she walked.  The sandwich was the chicken from last night, shredded, with dad’s barbecue sauce, some greens, and a really dark whole wheat bread.  She couldn’t help but feel like any one ingredient could be changed out for something similar and it would make the sandwich ten times as good.

With the way every single kid at school kind of fanned out, especially as they finished eating, it was hard to find a place secluded enough.  They settled on the trees at the edge of the grounds the school technically owned.  There were a lot of small trees nearby that had probably grown naturally from saplings, that could stand to be cleared out.

“Miss!” Verona called out.

“Miss!” Lucy called out.

Oh, we’re doing it like that?  Avery choked down her bite of sandwich.  Dry.  “Miss!”

There was no rustle of wind, no music, no sound or lights.

“I’m here.”

Avery turned, looking.  She wanted to use the Sight, but she was scared to.  Miss stood by the tree, only the edge of her body visible, while she looked out toward the rest of Kennet.  When the wind picked up, it made her hair move.  She was wearing what might have been a long pleated skirt and a long-sleeved shirt.

Lucy paced left, and Verona paced right, trying to get a better look.

“What’s happening in Kennet?” Avery asked.

Miss stepped out of sight behind the tree as Avery’s friends got to the point where one of them would be able to see her.

“A lot of things are happening in Kennet,” Miss said, from the edge of another tree.  Avery’s friends stopped in their tracks, and stopped trying to intercept her.

“I’m seeing bloody handprints, and they’re only really in Kennet.  Lucy’s seeing bloodstains and swords all over the place.  Verona sees…”

“Everything in wrappings like really wrinkled plastic wrap or spider webs.  Flayed, meaty things on the other side.”

“A kingdom without a king will be in turmoil.  Even if it is a peaceful area and the people are content, there is a tension and an omnipresent anxiety that is only eased when the next someone takes the throne.  A region without its Carmine Beast is… similar.”

“But more focused on blood and violence?” Lucy asked.  “Aggression?”

“More focused, yes.  It will get worse before it gets better.”

“What happens when it gets worse?” Avery asked.

“Others of that type that emerge naturally will emerge more often, or find their ways here from Other places, or from other regions.  They will tend to be violent, messy Others.  Many will be fleeting and desperate.  The Carmine Beast… just by being in position, she encouraged a system where Others more in line with her disposition will appear and find stability.  When something else takes the seat, it will do the same, depending on who and what it is.  Nearly anything taking the seat will be better than what is presently happening.”

“Even the Hungry Choir?” Verona asked.

“The Hungry Choir is strong, but it is defined by its ability and desire to sustain itself, more than most living rituals.  It has to know it wouldn’t hold the seat for long before being spent or being challenged and beaten by something else.”

“So it has the means but not the motive?” Lucy asked.

“It is, by all reports, doing remarkably well for a living ritual of its size.  It doesn’t get anything, as far as I can tell, from harming the Carmine Beast.”

“Isn’t that a bad thing?” Avery asked.  Beside her, Verona was digging in a pocket.  The flyer.

“Some of us have exerted influence to disarm it, to discourage some people from finding the ritual.  It’s large enough a phenomenon that any slack we create here will be picked up by someone halfway across Ontario.”

“We want to talk to it,” Lucy said.

“It doesn’t talk.”

“How do we communicate with it?”

“Talk to the people who are caught up in it.  Put the pieces together.  Living rituals tend to build up a mythology, like a plant setting out roots.  They anchor it in this world, give it ground by which it can spring back up later.”

“At the cost of giving up more information?” Verona asked.

“Yes.  More information on how it can be riddled out or beat.”

“You call it a living ritual, but Matthew Moss called it a ritual incarnate.”  Lucy sounded a bit accusatory.

“I’m sure that’s more accurate.”

“This stuff,” Avery said.  “That’s throwing everything off.  Is it responsible for my Sight acting strange?”

“What happened?”

“You don’t know?” Lucy asked.

“I don’t.”

“My Sight wouldn’t go away.  It stayed in one part of my eye.”

“My theory was that it’s like straining a muscle,” Lucy added.

“Have you been using it a great deal?” Miss asked.

Avery shrugged and nodded.

“The part of you that connects to the Sight isn’t physical.  It’s your Self, your soul, your ‘you’.  The complex spirit or fingerprint that makes up all the parts of you that are distinct and unique when put together as a whole.  It adheres to patterns, adjusting and adapting by scales that have nothing to do with muscles or physical health.”

“What happened?” Avery asked.

“It adjusted.  As spirits do, your spirit worked off of underlying patterns and assumptions, that you were someone who always used the Sight, so you always wanted the Sight available.  There are many practitioners who do this on purpose, refining their Sight so it is something they can always have available, for specific purposes, and keep their vision clear for other things.”

“Uh, so how do I tell my Self to not do that?” Avery asked.

“That might be something that Charles can help you with better than I can.  Intuitively, it makes sense that if you don’t want it on most of the time, don’t use it most of the time.”

“Are there any other ways?” Lucy asked.

“You could make the pattern more elaborate, so it is harder to fall into by unconscious habit.  Saying a particular word or wearing your mask or a pair of glasses when you want the Sight available.”

“Does this happen with other things?” Avery asked.

“Absolutely.  Use of a particular tool or practice might wear down a path, that path becomes a requirement, then becomes something inexorably tied to you.  I wouldn’t panic.  Nothing that is done in this sort of way is likely to be impossible to undo.  It might be very hard to undo, but not impossible.”

“I feel like there should be a rulebook or handbook for this,” Lucy said.

“There is.  They call it Essentials and many novice practitioners who are born into families that teach the practice tend to get it before they awaken.  Unfortunately, we’re not practitioners, and we’re not in a position to give you one.  I asked around, and Charles had given away his copy.  Matthew didn’t keep his after his father died.”

“You know they told us their stories,” Avery said.

“Yes.”

“Are you having us watched?” Lucy asked.

“Yes.  Part of the reason is for your protection.”

“And the other part of the reason?” Lucy asked.

“I decline to say.”

“That’s… a bad look, Miss,” Verona said.

“I know.”

“I’ll be blunt here.  Did you have anything to do with the Carmine Beast’s death or disappearance?” Lucy asked.

“Not to the best of my knowledge.”

“Is your knowledge potentially tainted or warped?” Verona asked.

“I have no reason to believe it is.”

“Do you know or suspect who is responsible?” Lucy asked.

“I have strong suspicions.”

Avery gave Lucy and Verona nervous looks.

“Who do you suspect?” Lucy asked.

“I decline to say.”

“Why?”

“Calm down,” Avery said.

“Why?” Lucy asked, again.

“Because the moment I do, the guilty party or parties are likely to know.  Two events are likely to move us to the next phase.  The first is that I tell you, you get too close, or outside practitioners act, and the guilty party hurries to claim the seat.  The second ties into what I told you earlier.  If the fleeting dark, violent, and bloody Others keep escalating and drawing near, the Carmine Beast’s kin may force someone to take the seat.  My guess is they would pick John.”

“What happens then?”

“The Alabaster, Sable, and Aurum would pick the Dog of War John Stiles, someone else would step in while bearing the power they took from killing the Carmine Beast, they would irrevocably destroy John, and then they would take the seat instead.”

“It sounds almost inevitable,” Verona said.

“It may be.  You’re under no obligation to solve this mystery.  This may be a puzzle best left unsolved.  I can’t and won’t tell you to solve it or not to solve it.  Trust your collective instincts.  You shouldn’t be blamed for the outcome, not by us, no matter the outcome.”

“John and the Choir… they’re the Candidates, right?” Verona asked.

“They are the top contenders I know of.”

“And they’re both from Kennet?  But John said the region the Carmine Beast covered was all of Northern Ontario, and some of Manitoba.”

“Yes.”

“That’s… weird, isn’t it?  That the Carmine Beast dies here, and the two major candidates are from here?”

“Certain regions are disqualified, because they are already under the power or sway of Lords or other Practitioners.  Thunder Bay, for example, is managed by an elemental.  Perhaps that elemental is violent and powerful enough to rule, but it is beholden to other interests and roles.  Other areas are too messy, to untouched by humanity.  They have less strength than John and offer less stability or longevity than the Choir.”

“This is a perfect middle ground?” Avery asked.

“It’s a good middle ground.  The other side of it is that these two may be candidates strictly because the Carmine Beast died here.  You’ve noticed the blood, the staining, and how the effects of her death are concentrated here.  All of us here may have more of a claim to the seat because we’re touched with her blood.”

“Could someone intercept it?  Use that and claim the seat?” Lucy asked.

“I do not think that that someone could easily survive the competition that came immediately after.  Not unless they were strong.”

“Like the Choir is strong?” Lucy asked.

“Potentially.”

“The Hungry Choir appears tomorrow night,” Verona said.  “We were thinking of trying to intercept it.”

“Do you have protection?”

“We have John, and some basic symbols and runes we can use.  A power source.”

“It’s scheduled to appear in Kennet next.  If you open up your ears like you opened your eyes to the Sight, you should hear the song.  You can follow it to the epicenter.”

“Epicenter is an ominous word,” Lucy said.

“It should be.  Do not participate.  Stay quiet, observe, and think hard before interfering.”

Avery spoke up.  “Charles said an Other that is acting on instinct may be able to harm us, in defiance of the deal we made on awakening.”

“Yes.  The Choir is a pattern, a ritual.  If you get caught up in it, it has to follow through on its own rules.  That is its ‘instinct’.  Be careful.”

“Can we trust you?” Lucy asked.  “About the Choir?  About anything?”

“That is up to each of you, Lucille, Verona, Avery.”

“Should we trust you, then?” Lucy pressed.

“Based on the facts as you have them now, no.  In the bigger picture, I would hope, yes, you should trust me.”

“Why are you making this hard?” Avery asked.

“Because what is happening is hard, and is going to get harder.  We’re far from the point where someone forces someone to take the seat, and my suspicion is you need to find your own ways there.”

“What are you?” Verona asked.

The question cut through the conversation, the tone of it disconnected from everything else.

“What do you think I am?”  Miss asked.

“No straight answers, huh?” Lucy asked.

Miss was silent.

“Are you a complex spirit?” Verona guessed.  “Stable?”

“No.  I wish I could be.  Spirits can find hallows and homes, they can break apart into constituent elements, or draw in other things.  I am what I am.”

“Bogeyman?” Lucy asked.  “Whatever that is?”

“No.  I’m not of the abyss.  You can recognize Others of that type by the darkness that stains them.”

“Like the stains of darkness I see with my Sight?” Lucy asked.

“Very possible.”

Avery drew in a deep breath.  Again, she had that feeling, like everyone present was fixated on her.

“Why do I feel like each of us only get one guess?” she asked.

“You can guess as many times as you like, but as Toadswallow explained to you last night, third times make a charm.  They make things more meaningful.”

“Can I save my question for later, then?”

“You can.  It won’t be as effective as three guesses happening in a timely manner, but if you’re right, then…”

“Then what?” Lucy asked.

“Then I suspect you get a better answer, with things flowing into and out of the occasion in a more satisfying way.”

“Then I’ll save it.  Until I understand things more.”

“Why don’t you just tell us, Miss?” Lucy asked.

“Because, Lucille, I’m afraid I don’t trust you three.”

“You picked us,” Avery said.

“In this world, knowledge is power.  To give you knowledge of what I am, with just a bit more research, is to give you an idea of how to bind me.  To enslave me.  All around the world, humans are fathoming the unfathomable.  They are riddling us out and raveling us in bindings, unraveling us into our constituent elements, or riddling us with holes by way of blade and bullet.  The Others of Kennet are for the most part fair and friendly.”

“Even the Choir?” Lucy asked.

“Technically it is fair.  It offers a deal and people take the deal.  Arguably, it is not of Kennet, but over a large area that includes Kennet.  Controversially, it isn’t something we could easily handle in the first place.  We manage it, contain the damage.  It pulls most of its targets from outside of Kennet.  Kennet acts as a regular staging ground, while the other stages change.”

“Can you give us more specifics?  How it works?” Verona asked.

“No,” Miss said.  “Because I am uniquely and unfortunately prone to being tangled up in traps such as that.  I have avoided particular knowledge and acted from a distance when I must act.  I’d explain more, but…”

“But you don’t trust us,” Lucy stated.

“I’m sorry.”

“We swore we wouldn’t be a threat to you unless you deserved it,” Avery said.

“And, acting with intent, you shouldn’t be.  Acting with instinct, or if you take leave of your senses, or find yourself vulnerable and at the disposal of other, greater practitioners?  You’re a danger.  The blade cuts both ways.”

Lucy looked miffed.  She checked her phone, then looked back toward the school.  “We should be heading back.  We’ll get in trouble if we arrive late.  Sucks.  I had so many more questions.”

“I should be available.”

“That reminds me.  Where have you been, the last few days?” Lucy asked.  “You were hovering a lot prior to our awakening.  Then you were gone.”

“Giving you space.  I’ve occupied myself keeping outside practitioners at bay.”

“Are they something we need to worry about?” Verona asked.

“I don’t know.  But speaking of worry… my gifts and teachings.  I should give them to you now.  Before tomorrow, and so you have more time to get acquainted with them.”

“Something we can use against the Choir?” Verona asked.

“There is no effective ‘against’ the Choir.  Observe, don’t oppose.  It won’t be worth it.  Verona?  If you would approach, my gift is tailored to your interests.”

Verona took a hesitant step forward, then walked around the tree. She passed around the left of it, emerged at the right, and had a paper in her hand.  There was no indication she had seen or interacted with Miss.  A black feather stuck out of the paper.

“The first part of my gift to you is unfortunately aimed at the long term,” Miss said.  “All of you girls will benefit.  There is a small school for practitioners to the east.  It takes time to get there, it takes time to return.  When and if you know more about what you want to do, you can go there, and attend by loopholes suggested there.  Or else you may need to go there, to field the outsiders, if they start to get too close.  Any families or individuals in the area will have some points of contact there.  If you ask it, they’ll teach you specifics about binding and defeating Others, depending on what Other you’re needing to deal with.”

“Why can’t we go now?”

“It takes time?” Lucy asked.

“You may need to wait until summer,” Miss said.  “To have the time needed.”

“What’s this feather?”

“A quill pen.  It lets you pick up written words and put them down.  I thought it suited you.  I would be careful about moving words into or out of practices, at least until you have power, protection, and a solid understanding of exactly what you’re doing.”

“Hmm,” Verona made a sound.  “Cool.”

“Avery.”

Avery approached Miss, who was now at a different tree.

She saw a slice of Miss’s silhouette, and chased it around the tree, before finding herself face to face with the others.

“Verona’s gift is given with an eye to the long term, with a second component that will take time to master.  Yours is not so far away, but it is not something you can or should do tonight or tomorrow.”

She looked at her hand.  There were papers there, like she’d been holding them all along.

She unfolded it.

“The Forest Ribbon Trail.”

“You wished to travel.  This is a place you can go that is as far from the earthly as you can safely go.  It is not easy, it is at the razor’s edge between safety and ruin, and it may leave you changed.”

Avery skimmed the instructions.  There was a ritual.  Capture a wild prey animal that has not shed or tasted blood, taking it unharmed and without drugs, and bring it indoors.  Bind it in ribbon…

She skipped ahead.  You must not step off the path.  You must not look down.  You must not step back.  If you do, you will be Lost…

She skipped further ahead.  Dealing with the Wolf…

Those capital letters in Lost and Wolf were ominous.

The very last lines… Done right, you will find yourself at the edge of losing your life, with the chosen gift in hand.  Done wrong, you will be Lost.

“Much as the loophole I gave Verona as a gift is a gift to all of you, any of you can walk the path, but I think you’ll get the most out of it, Avery.  You may wish to wait until you’re stronger.  The walking is not easy.  The gifts are very much worth it, and more doors will be open to you after.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“Lucille.”

“You can call me Lucy.”

“Lucy.  At your feet.”

Lucy knelt, reached into the grass, and picked up a ring.  It looked awkward, with a long, narrow bit built into it.

“What is it?”

“A gift for the now.  For your protection.  Wear the ring, draw it and your hand along any object.  You’ll have a weapon at hand.  Be aware this costs something, and if you do not have a source of power at hand, it will drink a bit of the Kennet Others and a great deal of you.”

“Of my… Self?”

“Less of your Self and more of your blood, your personal power.  Your strength.”

“So I’ll have a weapon and I’ll be in too bad a shape to fight?”

“That is a risk.”

“Okay,” Lucy said.  “We can call you again?  If we have questions?  We have the rest of tonight and tomorrow to prepare, I think.”

“You can call me anytime.  I can’t guarantee that I’ll answer, but I’ll try.”

“Thanks, then, I guess,” Lucy said.  She looked at Avery and Verona.  Avery gave her a nod.

They started the walk back to school.  Lucy checked her phone and made a face, before picking up her pace.  Other kids were already filing back in, and ninety percent of them were a lot closer to the school.

“I want more interviews like that,” Verona said.  “Gifts and lots of things to look forward to.”

“Weird gifts.” Avery looked down at the papers, before folding them up into a square and putting them in her back pocket.

“Miss is weird,” Verona answered.

“You’re not wrong,” Lucy said.  “But I have to wonder…”

She trailed off, and she didn’t pick up the thought immediately.

“Wonder what?” Avery asked.

Lucy looked back, as if to check Miss wasn’t listening in.  They were making their way uphill, and there weren’t even any stones or bushes for goblins to hide in.

“…I can’t say for sure if I should be really happy or concerned about my gift,” Lucy said.

“Concerned?” Verona asked.

“My first feeling was that this is great.  Just what I wanted.  Protection, power.  It has a bit of a drawback, but… fine.  Maybe that’s most magic items and trinkets.”

“What’s your second feeling?” Verona asked.

“That after last night, I wasn’t so keen I wanted to go this route, with violence and weapons.  And if Miss is keeping enough track of things to know exactly what Toadswallow taught us… is it impossible that she knows I wasn’t keen?”

“A bit of a monkey’s paw?” Verona asked.  “A gift that seems neat, that you’re not likely to make use of?”

“Well I mean…” Lucy looked again, to check for eavesdroppers.  “What if she gave me something with the full expectation I’d use it… right after telling us we shouldn’t oppose the Choir?”

“A trap?” Avery asked.

“A warning, with full expectation we’d ignore it?” Verona added.

“I don’t know,” Lucy said.  “How do you feel about your things?”

“A really great first feeling.  School for practitioners?” Verona asked.

“Could be neat.  Could be necessary,” Lucy said.

“Could be.  But… when you reframe it as hooray, summer school!?”

“Maybe,” Lucy said.

“The pen is neat, at least.”

Lucy nodded.  “If it isn’t another trap.  And crap, that’s the warning bell.  Run!”

“I’m all runned out after gym class,” Verona complained.

“You barely ran,” Avery said.

Verona laughed, but as much as she’d complained, she did pick up the pace.

And me, Avery thought.  My gift from Miss is a way to go to some magical, mystical place, with the threat or promise that I’d be changed afterward.  And she gives it to me right after my Sight went weird and I was terrified of being changed irrevocably.

“We’ll need to plan and prepare,” Lucy said, as they reached the side door of the school.  “We’ve got tomorrow to get ready, maybe see if we can dig up some of the roots or figure out what the rules are, get geared up, maybe prepare some diagrams.”

“You’re speaking my language,” Verona said, elbowing her friend.

“Ha ha.  I’m speaking English, you dunce.  We get prepped, we get things squared away, and then we meet the Choir.  I’m betting none of those things are as easy as they sound.”

“And hopefully,” Avery said, quiet, as Lucy held the door open for her and Verona, “We won’t be missing any body parts afterward, like the teenager with the sunglasses was.”

Verona

The lawnmower roared, loud enough that she couldn’t really listen to music.  She pushed, working it over the part of the lawn where there had once been a tree.  The stump had rotted away, but there was still a hump where it had been.  As the mower’s wheel rolled over it, the blades bit into the dirt, spitting it out the vent at the side.

The handle was broken and didn’t lower all the way, so it came up to Verona’s neck rather than her chest.  She had to lift and wrestle to get it past the tricky bit.

Which was a lot of wrestling when the mower weighed seventy pounds and she weighed eighty two.  Head down, arms up, using the full strength of her arms, midsection and legs to force the wheel up.

It rolled down that slight slope, the cord pulled, and the extension cord unplugged from the mower.

She was glad she was already using the Sight, because she would have sworn something was messing with her at that point.

Pulling off her sweater, wearing a sleeveless black tee beneath, she stalked her way over the lawn, which looked like spiders had gotten to it, matting it down in cobwebs.  Around the corner to where the extension cord had gotten caught at the short stone wall that bounded the garden, and tugged on the cord, pulling it over the wall instead of against the corner of it.

The Sight at least kept things interesting.  Most things were beneath a layer.  She was still working out what it meant, but for the time being, it was a really cool filter to cast over the world.  Like everything from the trees to her house to the garden were snakes that had shed their skin but not yet wriggled free of it.

The garden was moist, and that moisture had frozen over, a foggy, icy film that made it like a pool of darkness, just barely clouded over.  In that darkness, she could make out a thing that was like a rabbit, flayed, face pressed against the film of ice.

She bent down as she walked past it, reaching for it to tap the ice.  It pulled away, leaving only the moist dirt, so dark it could have been a hole.

Avery and Lucy had confirmed they had the same issue.  It was hard to interact with most things that they saw with the Sight, because it tended to go more normal as they got closer to it.

She plugged the end of the extension cord back into the mower, then pulled back on the part of the handle that started it up again.  Each patch of grass had to be gone over twice; forward, then back.  Three steps forward, two steps back.  There were patches and points in time when it seemed like the grass wouldn’t cut at all, even with two passes of the mower.

Twice, there were branches that had fallen from the neighbor’s tree that she had to pick up, each branch wreathed in pale, loose bark, the broken off ends red and ragged.  Two more times, she just ran over branches, letting the blades chew them up.

She fantasized about using the mower to cut a giant circle in the lawn.  Inside that circle, she could mow a triangle, and underline it.  Could she feed a giant fire rune with the power from the extension cord?  Did that work?

She supposed that at that point, there wasn’t much difference between that and cutting the end of the extension cord and using the frayed wire to start a fire.  But if she did the rune, wouldn’t there be a giant plume of fire?

She would love a giant plume of fire right now.

Her Sight revealed the bugs and small rodents that fled from the noise and chaos of the stupid frigging mower.  You don’t need to run, little guys.  This monster is slow.

Three steps forward, two steps back.

Across the street and halfway down the block, she could see Wallace from her class, out on the driveway with his parents.  It looked like he was bringing in groceries.  She tried not to look like she was looking at him, and tried to not look super lame while struggling with the mower.  She’d only just brought it from one corner of the lawn to the other.  One row out of…

She tried to estimate.

Sixteen?

She turned it around, and as she did, the extension cord was pulled back because it was connected to the handle.  It draped itself nicely at the edge of the unmowed grass she had been intending to cut.

Verona stopped, grabbed the cord, whipped it to get it to re-drape itself along the dark, spiderwebby lawn, re-plugged it in because the pulling had unplugged it again, and took a second to try and knot the extension cord around the handle, so it would stop pulling out of the shorter cord with the socket embedded in it.

She hoped Wallace wouldn’t wave or call out to her or anything.  At a distance, he was a smudge, with near-white hair, a dark jacket, and dark pants.  He’d see a smudge with sweat and grime probably visible at a distance, hair all messed up.

He looked at her, but then he grabbed the bags from the back, sticking his arms through bags so he was carrying at least four plastic bags on each arm.

She really hoped he wasn’t trying to impress her.  She really hoped he wasn’t the guy who had given her a like on the stupid app.  For that matter, she hoped Jeremy wasn’t either.  She never should have voted for either, but now that she had, one of them had voted for her and knew she’d voted for them and ugh.

It wasn’t that she didn’t think they were okay looking.  They were.  When class had been slow and a teacher was droning on, spending twenty minutes badly explaining something that was spelled out very simply, clearly, and succinctly in the textbook, she’d let her mind wander, and sometimes it had wandered in the direction of the boys.

Like, she kind of wished she could approach a boy and ask him straight-up if they’d kiss her, no strings attached, so it meant nothing.  When she imagined that, she sometimes thought of Jeremy or Wallace.

Well, George too.  If she had to pick a face she liked, she’d pick George, but a lot of girls liked George and that meant hassle, and hassle was the opposite of the point.  Killed the appeal a lot.

She kept pushing the mower.  Three steps forward, two steps back.  There were parts of the lawn that animals had gotten at, where the wheels got trapped, which meant the pushing was hard.

Wallace stepped back outside.  Again, she hoped he wouldn’t wave or do anything.  She watched as he got more groceries, while she pushed the mower.  Halfway through the second row of maybe sixteen rows.

The second trip was less bags, but they seemed heavier.  Again, he carried them all in one go.  Wallace’s mom touched Wallace’s head with a bit of tenderness as she passed him, then got a case of bottled water out of the back.  His mom didn’t carry much, but Verona knew she had some nerve problem and had a tough time with it.  Wallace had mentioned it in passing at this stupid home-ec thing they’d had to do before school, once.  That he was worried he’d get the same thing when he grew up.

She hadn’t known what to say, but Jeremy had said some reassuring things, and she’d been kind of impressed that he hadn’t been stunned into silence like she had.  That this dorky guy who’d gotten paint on Katie’s clothes in grade one could actually be cool.  That Wallace could sound like he cared about his mom, and talk about her like Lucy talked about her mom.  She’d put Wallace into a mental bucket back in grade two or so, back one time when he’d worn a short sleeved shirt under a sweater and the bottom of the short sleeved shirt had stuck out like a dress.  After that day in home ec, she’d had to adjust where they sat in her head.

Which was part of why her head went to them when she thought of things like asking them about kissing.  Or like… if she approached him or Jeremy, and offered to let him put his hand up her shirt, in exchange for him taking off his pants and letting her examine, poke at his bits a few times, and ask maybe fifty questions.  She’d even worked up a script of bases to cover, ground rules, and the questions she’d ask if she could.  Like how there’d be no strings attached.

But there would be.  She could imagine they’d say yes because guys were curious, too, right?  They’d probably be decent because they weren’t shitty people.  If it was just that probably, with a chance they’d blab about it to their guy friends, maybe she’d even go forward with it, just to fill in those blanks in her understanding about the other half of the human race.  But… no.

No, there was no way that she could trust them to make it a one time thing followed by them treating her exactly the same after.  They’d want to go on dates to go grab ice cream or something, or exchange things on Valentines day, or they’d want to sit and cuddle like Avery talked about wanting to do.

She couldn’t imagine many things more boring than that.  More obligations, more people nagging at her about things she should be doing.  Chocolates on certain days, anniversaries, and having to date every few days or feelings would be hurt.  And for what?  To build what?  The literal only adults she even kind of knew who weren’t alone, divorced, abusive, unhappy, or widowed were Avery’s parents, and she couldn’t be positive that they weren’t staying together because a divorce with five kids would be a nightmare.

Wallace stepped outside yet again.  She really hoped he wouldn’t wave.  That he wouldn’t walk over, and offer to help.  That would be awkward.  Nice, and very like him, but awkward.

He shut the back of the car.  To Verona’s sight, it shed a wave of ‘skin’ with the impact.  Then he went inside, closing the front door of the house after him.

She felt weirdly disappointed that he hadn’t come over.

The stupid app had confused things, made things awkward, and had everyone thinking about things in the worst, most boring ways.  It had hurt Lucy so badly, Verona knew that, and she had no idea what to say like she’d had no idea what to say when Wallace had said he might one day end up having to use a cane, or even sometimes a wheelchair, or he might go temporarily or permanently blind, or have seizures, because that was the sort of thing his mom faced.

Lucy’s hurt was different than that, but it was still real.  Avery’s hurt was closer to Wallace’s.  More of a dread.  It sucked and Verona didn’t know what to say and it was all because of that stupid app.  That stupid-

The lawnmower reached the other side of the awkward bit of lawn where the stump had been, and got stuck again.

She wrestled with the mower’s handle, full-bodied fighting it for a good ten seconds to get it over and past the hump.  It reached the other side, then rolled over and down from the side of the lawn to the too-dark driveway, where it stirred the film like plastic sheeting that covered the drive.

-Stupid frigging fucking piece of technology!

She was sweaty, the dust and grass kicked up by the mower was sticking to the sweat, and her hair was probably sticking up in five places.  She turned the mower around, and the act of turning it around pulled on the extension cord, pulling it into the mower’s path.

She gave serious consideration to running over the extension cord.  She would have to figure out what to say that wasn’t technically a lie, but… nah.  There was a chance she’d electrocute herself and she didn’t want to die.

Getting the mower up the slight slope at the edge of the lawn took some effort, and she had to do it three times to get the grass mowed near the hump.

The rest of the lawn wasn’t quite as bad as the first part.  The occasional branch.  The occasional hole where an animal had made its burrow and nature had partially reclaimed the hole.  She could see bones and the meaty faces within the holes, peering up as she passed by.

“Sorry little spirits or whatever,” she murmured, as she pushed the mower.  “Sorta gotta do this.”

It took fifteen runs of the lawnmower, rather than sixteen, but toward the end she was eager enough to be done that she was kind of bullshitting her way through it.  The gravely run-off from the road kind of meant there wasn’t much grass at the end of the lawn, anyway.  Each run had been three steps forward, two step back, in that effort to chop down those tufts that seemed to stubbornly stick up after.

She pushed the mower into the garage, then gathered up the extension cord, now muddy with grass clinging to it.

Job done.  She surveyed it, looked back at the mower, looked back at the lawn, and then marched into the house.

She exited the house, feather in hand, and stalked her way into the garage before flicking on the light.  She sat on her heels, and looked at the mower, wiping away the grass that had gotten stuck to the label on front.  She had to squint and strain her eyes a bit to make out the words through the film.  That was something she’d have to get used to, see if she could train in her Self and Sight.

SCHMIDT LAWN MOWER

She pressed the pen to the edge of the word, and saw the first letter slip in, as if drunk by the pen.  Then another…

She pulled back, then tapped the pen.  Each tap brought the letters out, putting them back where they should be.

With a leftwards stroke, she could drink up a whole word at once.  With a rightward stroke, she could put it down.

With her Sight, it became apparent that doing this tended to tangle up the fine threads that seemed to connect everything, like the threads were attached to the letters and by moving the letters around, they got stuck to her.

She considered that for a moment.

Probably, she guessed, there was something like the Others had talked about at the Awakening ritual.  Responsibility.

If she caused trouble this way, it might tie back to her.  If she messed with practices, then she probably owned that mess.

That was her best guess, anyway.

She would have to experiment more.  And in the pursuit of experimentation…

Verona fiddled for a minute, the point of the feather pen scraping against plastic.

“I’m going to give you a name,” she murmured.  “So this doesn’t qualify as a lie…”

She stood up and stood back, arms folded, being careful not to touch her arm with the point of the quill.  There were still three letters in it, and she wasn’t sure if it would get applied as a tattoo.

Good.

She pushed the lawnmower into the corner, newly christened ‘WARMED COW SHIT’, disposed of the three spare letters on the label for the weed whacker, and closed the garage up.

If her dad asked, she’d say she changed the label to match the name she’d given it.  Which was true.  More likely, he’d never look and it would eventually break down enough to go into the trash.

It still made her feel better.

She stepped back inside, and rinsed off, tossing her clothes into the laundry hamper.  The water in the shower was visually interesting, like it all had a super-thin sheet of foggy ice over it, but it wasn’t that cold.  The dust on the towel seemed to be magnified, stretched out into cobwebs, and the back wall of her closet had more film, barely-visible figures pressing against the film, red and wet.

She reached for one, and it pulled away violently enough that the film sucked back against the hard wall behind it, clinging to the dark wood grain.  Her hand dropped down, landing on an old shirt.

She didn’t have many sweaters or anything, so she grabbed a hooded sweater with a black hood and a grey body from last year.  It had a corset-like lace at the ‘v’ of the collar, with leather thong threaded through, dangling down.  The fit was annoyingly clingy to her body, but it was the best option for something long-sleeved that wasn’t dirty.  She stuck her feather up the sleeve, post-its in the front pocket, and a pen in the pants pocket of her other jeans.

The house felt less confining, with the Sight giving everything a creepy filter over top of it.  She made her way down to the kitchen, idly wondering if the other girls felt as comfortable with it as she felt with hers.  Avery had been using hers a lot.  Was it always like that?

She grabbed a handful of chocolate chips from the cabinet with the stuff for baking, and was scrounging for more things to snack on when her dad came in.  She grabbed more chocolate chips, and turned around to look.

“When you’re doing the lawn, you need to bring the mower across horizontally and vertically, or you need to layer the strips so the part that’s under the wheel for one pass is directly under the mower for the next,” he said, as he pulled off his shoes.

She chewed on chocolate chips.

“Have you done the backyard?”

She shook her head, still chewing.

“Later?” he asked.

She gave him something between a shrug and a nod.

He groaned, long and loud, as he entered the kitchen, leaned against the counter next to her, and lifted up one foot to rub at it.

When he was done, he put out a hand.

She hesitated, then held out hers, releasing her grip on the fistful of chips just enough to deposit a single chocolate chip into his palm.

“I did buy those you know,” he said.  “With my money, from one of my two jobs.”

She gave him a second chocolate chip, then dumped the rest into her mouth.  The points of the chips jabbed at her gums and the roof of her mouth, but she would’ve done it again.

He groaned as he stood up straight, no longer leaning against the counter, leaned past her, and grabbed the bag of chips.  He was tall enough and big enough around the middle that she was almost crushed against the counter by him.  She ducked her head under his arm and crossed to the other corner of the kitchen.  She settled in there, leaning against the broom closet.

“You look so much like your mother sometimes,” he said.  “She used to be so beautiful.”

Verona chewed.

“I used to be thin, if you’d believe it.  I had muscles.”

Her eyebrows went up.

“That’s not a new top, is it?”

She shook her head.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, smiling like he was being funny.

She finished chewing, her hand held out in front of her, still covered in traces of melted chocolate.  “No.  It’s old, from last year.  I didn’t have anything else.”

“Do you need new clothes?”

She considered for a moment.  Her pants had been digging into her lower stomach while she was sitting in class.

“Guess I might,” she said.  “Can I order them online?”

“You don’t want to go shopping, go to a fitting room?”

“You can send stuff back.  There’s more options.  Can I have your credit card?  You can say how much I can spend.”

“Can you wait another week?  Your mother’s taking her time with her child support payment, and our household here is a few thousand dollars in debt after paying for the roof last fall.”

“Okay.”

“And I’ll put the credit card information in,” he said, with an expression like he was being funny or trying to catch her in a bit of mischief.

“Okay.”  She licked at her hand, to get the traces of chocolate.

“How are you doing today?” he asked.

Her eyebrows went up.  “Okay.”

“Just okay?  Can I get more than one word out of you?”

“Most of the day was good, interesting.  Classes were fine.  Friends are okay, I think.  Avery did great at basketball during gym.  Mr. Lai’s class got twice as bearable ever since we found out he was a secret lumberjack-carpenter, and Ms. Hardy’s class is fun because a student I know has a crush on her, and it’s funny.”

“Hm.”

“I’m still paying attention.  It’s just easier if there’s… more going on, I guess?  Sometimes.  There’s this app thing going around at school.  Popularity thing, kind of.  A lot of kids were pretty unhappy about it.  Lucy and Avery were among them.  Really sucked, and distracting in a bad way.”

Man, Lucy would be upset if she heard Verona talking about the app.

“Ah, that’s too bad.  At my work, there’s a clique of younger workers… you remember what I told you about the batch of interns that we brought in last year?”

“I remember.”  Yep.  Didn’t matter that I brought the app up.

“They were brought on for full-time positions, and they’ve formed a bit of a clique within the office.  Luc loves them, he says they bring energy to the office, but I really think they bring in bitterness.  They have people they like and they don’t like, and it’s a popularity thing of its own.  They’re passive aggressive, they shut people out, me included, and they’ll make these sniping little comments… like they’re teenage girls and not twenty five year old men, you know?”

“Uh, well, in our case, we’re actually teenage girls.”

“Trust me, it’s worse when it’s grown adults acting like children.  The way they’ll leave the room when I enter, or they’ll make sure to give each other credit, but if I take four hours out of my day to write up a TARPAC report for them and help them out, I get nothing?  They’re pushing for a move to a new database format, because they learned it in school, nevermind that the existing staff have learned the ins and outs of MARCALT.  Small kinds of sabotage like that.”

Verona shrugged.

“It’s a grind, going in every day.  Dealing with them.  Distracting, like you said.  I’m so tired.”

Verona paused, itching to say something sarcastic.  She shifted mental gears, wondered for a second what it’d be like in his shoes.

“Gee, I’m wondering what that’s like,” she said.  “Going in every day.”

“I’ve been in school,” he told her.  “And I’ve worked.  This is worse.  You don’t have to wonder, I can tell you exactly how.”

“It’s fine.  I can guess.”

“It’s exhausting.  You’ve got friends waiting for you at school.  I’ve got nothing.  Benjamin quit.  Julia’s dealing with her husband’s issues.  I’ve told you about those?”

“Yeah.  Sucks.  Um…”  She flailed mentally.  “I’m changing the topic, but uh, about dinner…”

“Dinner, okay,” he said.  He approached the fridge, which she was next to.  “Excuse me.”

She took two steps to the side.  He opened the fridge and freezer, the fridge door swinging into the space she’d been occupying.

“Chicken Kiev,” he said.  He held out a box of pre-frozen chicken kiev meals.  He grabbed a bag of frozen broccoli and a bag of frozen french fries.  “Sides.  Can you preheat the oven?  Set it to four hundred?”

I could go to Lucy’s, she thought, deliberately.

“I was just thinking about going to Lucy’s, actually.”

He put the things back in the freezer.  There was a pause where he stood in the doorway, his back to her.

“Is it a problem?” she asked.

“Are you being a nuisance, going over there all the time?”

“I hope not.  Can I go?”

“Yeah, go,” he said, curt.  The freezer door shut with more force than necessary.  In the gloom of her Sight, the door shed some skin, and faces with empty eye sockets retreated into the gloom beneath the freezer.  He walked out of the room, heading for upstairs.

“Are you sure?” she asked.  “You seem mad.”

“I wanted to have an actual conversation, Verona.  There are still things that need doing around the house.  But go.  It’s fine.  I won’t get in the way of your friendships.”

“We have lots of chances to talk the rest of the time, like on the way to school,” she called out.

“I’m sure you’re right,” he answered, barely audible.

“Why-”

He was gone, out of earshot.

She heard his bedroom door close.

The problem with having an overactive imagination was that she could immediately think of five things that were responsible for his sudden change in mood.  That he was sick, that he might lose his job, that she’d done or said something earlier, that she’d forgotten an event.  When was Father’s day?  Was that May or June?

If he was in a mood now, what happened if she left?  Would he be madder?  Or more hurt, if something was wrong and he’d been wanting to work his way to communicating it?

She chewed on her lip for a few seconds, then lurched into motion, grabbing the chocolate chip bag, tying it in a knot to seal it, and putting it away.

Maybe a year ago, she would have stewed for another twenty minutes, changed her plans to go hang with Lucy, and gone to mow the back lawn.  Trying to make him happy.  In the now, she just got her bag together, got her phone, and dialed Lucy on the way out the door, before he could emerge from his room.

None of this was anything new.  Not predictable.  Never.  But not new, either.

If she didn’t go to his room and knock to ask what was wrong, he’d emerge and tell her.  And she didn’t care.

No, that would be a lie.  She didn’t want to care.  Caring at this point was an involuntary reflex.

She had to think of him like an Other, with rules and habits she could process and work around.  Leaving now meant not falling into the trap.

She hit the ‘call’ button on her phone.

Lucy answered.  “Hey.”

“Can I come over?  My dad’s being lame again.”

“For sure.  Fair warning though, I’ll be cooking dinner.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Don’t say that until you taste it.”

“Haha.  See you in a little while.”

The roads were black, not grey, and the shadowy recesses and ditches off to either side of the road had more of the bloody things.  Houses were similar, with red messes against the windows.

As Verona got to Lucy’s house, she saw Lucy’s mom wearing her scrubs, loading stuff into the car.  She skipped ahead, grabbing the boxes sitting by the car, and handing them up for Lucy’s mom to put in the car.

“Thank you.  You’re a sweetheart.”

“Is it okay if I stay for dinner, Jas?”

“Anytime, Verona.  Can you do me a favor?”

Verona nodded.

“Give Lucy some extra love?  She seems low, and she wouldn’t tell me why.”

Verona swallowed, then nodded again.

“Thank you.  I don’t suppose I could ask if you know why?”

Verona looked up toward the house and the window where Lucy’s room would be.  Covered in film like soap scum.

“Don’t tell her I told you, I’m only really saying because I don’t want you to think it’s her fault or anything…”

Verona paused, trailing off.

Seeing Jasmine nod, she said, “…she said she didn’t sleep well.  Then, first thing at school this morning, there was this popularity contest type thing, um, by the students, teachers don’t know.  Parents aren’t supposed to know.”

She said that last bit in a pointed way.

Jasmine folded her arms, then nodded.

“She deserves way better than what she got,” Verona said.

She could see the hurt in Jasmine’s eyes, like it was Jasmine who’d been the one to get rock bottom results, and not her daughter.

Verona braced herself, getting her mental footing.  A pang of regret for saying anything hit her.

“Thank you for telling me,” Jasmine said.

Verona relaxed a bit.  She found her breath and the words, adding, “I’m surprised she didn’t blow her top at anyone.”

“She does that sometimes.”

“She was working it out in gym class, playing by the rules, which I thought was kind of cool, except she was on the other team and her team was beating mine.”

Eyes still sad, Jasmine did smile.

“Mr. Bader was picking on her in particular.  I really thought she’d lose it, but she didn’t.”

“Is that what happened?  I got an email from Mr. Bader.  I haven’t had a chance to answer, and she didn’t explain when I asked.”

“I’m glad I told you then,” Verona said, quiet.

Jasmine approached, and put a hand on Verona’s shoulder.  With a slight pull of Verona towards her, she asked, “Can I?”

Verona nodded, and accepted the hug that followed.  Warm and comfortable, even with the plastic nametag Jasmine was wearing jabbing at her.

“Thank you for being a good friend to Lucy,” Lucy’s mom said.

“For sure.”

“It’s hard, being a parent, and having your kids reach that age when they no longer reach out to you when they’re hurting.  Booker was kind enough to wait until he was fifteen or sixteen before he did it.  It breaks my heart that Lucy started doing it at ten.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so glad she has you.  Be kind to her.  And if there’s anything you need, with your dad or anything else…”

“Thank you, Jasmine.”

Lucy’s mom broke the hug.  She brushed the side of Verona’s face with her hand.  “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“If we do get into trouble, I’ll have her back.”

“Good.  And I’m running late, now.”

“Have fun,” Verona said, as she jogged over to the steps, with plants shrouded in something halfway between cobwebs and plastic wrap.  She gave Lucy’s mom a look over her shoulder, and saw an eye roll.

Yeah.  Work wasn’t fun.

But the practice stuff?

She used the key Lucy’s mom had given her years ago to let herself in.

Lucy was in her room, sitting on her bed with her back to her bookshelf, legs out in front of her.  She had a pile of books and random things strewn out in front of her, along with notebooks.  She flinched as Verona knocked, covering something up, then relaxed.

“Just me,” Verona said.

She walked over to Lucy, and found a position where she could sit on the edge of the bed and hug her friend from behind.

“What’s that for?”

“Your mom said to be extra nice to you.  She knows you’re in a funk.”

“Mm.”

“Remember back when we were kids, and my parents had divorced, and we were so convinced our parents should date and marry and we could be sisters?” Verona asked.

“I remember that.”

“We were such morons,” Verona said.  “What were we thinking?”

“That it’d be cool to be sisters.”

“We’d drive each other crazy if we lived in the same house.”

“Probably.  But sisters do that.  Look at Avery and her sisters.”

“Mm, yeah,” Verona said.  She wiggled forward, and Lucy leaned forward to provide more wiggle room. Verona found a more comfortable seat behind Lucy, and looked over Lucy’s shoulder at what Lucy was doing.

“Want to see?” Lucy asked.  She had the ring and the hot lead.

“I really want to see.”

Lucy slipped on the ring, and used her thumb to hold the lead so it rested at the base of her fingers, touching the ring.

She touched a dictionary, swiping her hand to one side.  The papers scattered, folding and consolidated into a sword shape.

“That is the coolest!” Verona squeezed her friend extra tight, rocking from side to side.

“Isn’t it?”

Lucy speared a toy she’d placed at the edge of the bed.  The point of the rapier-like blade sank in with no resistance.

She made a motion like she was tossing the sword upward, and the papers scattered, unfolding, and landed in order, the cover landing last.  Dictionary reassembled.

“More, more, more!”

Lucy repeated the process, this time with a wooden box.  The wooden parts came apart, folded, reshaped, and settled around her hand, like a pair of brass knuckles, but heavier, larger, and made of ornate wood.  A space was left out for the ring.

Cupping her hand over a can of soda, Lucy moved it slowly from one end to the other, the other hand holding the can, grip rearranging as the shape changed.

When she moved the hand with the ring away, her other hand held a small handgun in gleaming aluminum, with the same color scheme as the off-brand soda can.

“Oh man,” Verona breathed.

“Can only do guns with a few things, I think.  I haven’t had the guts to pull the trigger,” Lucy admitted.

Verona reached around Lucy, doing her best to hold Lucy’s hand and arm, joining her strength to her friend’s.  “What are we trying to shoot?”

“I don’t even know.  See the trash can by my desk?”

Verona saw it.  A metal trash can with some papers in it.

They aimed, pointing the weapon.  Lucy pulled at the trigger by the smallest increments, twisting her face away more and more as the pull increased.  Verona could feel the tension in her arm.

The shot was deafening, the can practically exploding as it seemed to rip in half, flipping end over end.  The base of the wall on the far side cracked.

“Oh man, oh, crap, let go of me, let go-!”

Worried her friend was hurt, Verona let go, letting Lucy stand.  Lucy tossed the gun away, toward the ruins of the can, and Verona had a glimpse of the weapon foaming violently, dripping soda onto Lucy’s legs and arm, and onto the film-covered bed and cobwebby floor.

The moment the weapon left Lucy’s hand, it became a can again, mostly empty.

“I’ll get a towel,” Verona said.  She’d stayed over enough times to know where the cupboard with the towels was.  She tossed Lucy a dry towel, then took another to the bathroom, wetting it under the tap.

“I think that was one shot,” Lucy said.  “Spent everything.  Might be worth keeping in mind.”

“I didn’t think it’d be a legit gun!  I thought it’d fire a BB or the tab of the can or something!”

“I thought it’d need to be loaded with real ammo,” Lucy said, eyes wide.  She took the wet towel and wiped her arm and legs.  “Thank you.”

Verona eyed the towel.  “Can I have the ring and hot lead?”

Lucy pulled off the ring, handing it over.  Verona winced as she took the lead, almost dropping it.

Verona went to her bag, pulled out her cape, and put it on, draping it over her shoulders.  She slipped on the ring.

“What are you doing?” Lucy asked.

“Experimenting.”

Verona gripped one part of her cloak in one hand, then held it close to herself.  She took the lead and held it as Lucy had, then ran the ring from her shoulder, all down her arm, to her hand.  She could feel it change against her skin.

She let go of the cloak, then moved her arm, reaching out.

The cloak reached out, roughly matching her arm.  The end of it formed into a claw shape, matching the positioning of her hand.  She experimented, swiping at the air, using a cloth arm that ended in a claw.  It moved violently enough that it made the whooshing noise like when she swung a tennis racket or baseball bat.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?” Lucy asked.

“What?  Ridiculous why?” Verona asked.  She pulled off the ring.  She felt her cloak flutter as it returned to normal, dropping down to hang normally.

“Nevermind.”

“The lead isn’t as painful to hold as it was, I think,” Verona noted.  She moved it around her palm.

“It’s cooling down as I use it more.  It heated up again when I spent thirty minutes or so talking to my mom.  I think it might have a capacity that recharges over time.”

“We shouldn’t waste it then.  We’ll need it for tomorrow night.”

Lucy nodded.

“There’s other stuff we could prep,” Verona said.  “Should we call Avery over?  Would your mom mind?”

“Nah,” Lucy said.  She picked up her phone, dialing.

Verona found the metal box they’d been keeping the hot lead in, almost lost in the rumpled sheets on Lucy’s bed.

“Avery!  Want to come over?  We’re experimenting and stuff.”

There was a pause.  Verona perked her ears, trying to hear.  When she couldn’t, she drew close.

“She’s sitting down to dinner, she doesn’t think she can get away,” Lucy said.

“Avery,” Verona said.  “Put it on speakerphone?”

“Why?” Avery’s voice came through.

“Please.  Come on!”

“I’m the only one in my room right now.”

“Then go to where your family is, and put it on speakerphone,” Lucy said.

“Fine.”

There was rummaging, then footsteps.

“Entering the kitchen… now.”

“Avery!  Come over!” Verona called out.  “We want you here!  We miss you!”

“You’re so cool!” Lucy added her voice to Verona’s.  “It’s just not as great without you here!”

“We’re doing such neat things!  You’re really missing out!”

“Such neat things!”

“Lucy’s going to cook dinner, and I want you to help!  It might be terrible, but you won’t have to watch that awful singing show!”

“We’ll watch what you want to watch!”

“Please!”

“Please come over!”

“Succumb to the peer pressure!”

“Guys,” Avery said.  “Okay.”

There were voices in the background.  Someone sounded like they were laughing.

“Is that a yes, you’re coming over?”

“Yes.”

Verona and Lucy whooped.

Verona smiled, seeing her friend flushed and smiling, the burdens of the day alleviated.

◬

Verona let herself into the house.

Time to face the music? she thought.

“I’m home!”

There was no response.

They’d spent the evening experimenting with runes and the pen, which was so far proving to be more of a novelty than a practical tool.  They’d had to stop when Lucy’s mom had come back, at which point they’d watched a movie, the three of them on the couch with a blanket over them, Lucy’s mom in the armchair.  The movie had been Avery’s choice.

Verona locked the front door, shut off the porch light, and went upstairs.

“Dad?”

She walked to the end of the hall.  Her Sight colored everything, with film, with deeper darknesses, with indecipherable fleshy bits pressing against the film that lined the inside of the air vent.

She knocked on her dad’s door.  There was a sound from within.

“Dad?”

“I’m tired, Verona,” he said.  “It’s late.  Go to bed.”

“Okay.”

“Can you get yourself to school in the morning?”

“Mrs. Ellingson might be able to pick me up.  Why?  You can’t drive me?”

“I had a hard time falling sleep, I was just falling asleep, and then you woke me up.  I’m going to sleep in a bit.  I have my part time job tomorrow night.”

“Alright,” she said.  “I’m busy tomorrow night too.”

She shut the door.

She headed into her room, staying quiet, setting her bag down on her computer chair.

She got ready for bed, then lay down.

The good feeling of the night at Lucy’s had been replaced by something heavier.

◬

“That would be a stabilizing form,” Edith said.

Verona sketched and scribbled madly to try to keep up with what Edith was explaining.  She’d write something tidier later.

“Stabilizing like…?” Avery asked.

“Imagine the fins on the tail of an airplane.  Training wheels on a bike.”

“Okay,” Avery said.  She began to write on the shoes she’d brought.  A battered pair of white, low-top sneakers.

“We’ve made good use of the earth and air runes.  We’ve used fire for the campfire and experimented with emergency lights,” Verona said.  “What about water?  Is it useful?”

“Not all runes are created equal.”

“But if air makes stuff lighter and earth makes it heavier, fire makes it hotter…  Water does what?  Can it make it more fluid?  Flexible?”

Edith frowned.

“She doesn’t know,” Lucy said.

“I could make assumptions,” Edith said, “But I wouldn’t want to lie.  It’s not my comfort zone.”

“Because you’re a candle spirit and water isn’t your jam,” Verona said.  “Got it.  Sorry if that line of questions was offensive.”

“No.  Not offensive,” Edith said.

Avery turned around, showing Edith her shoe.

“Good enough.”

“Can it be better?”

“Probably.  But for right now, you should try getting a feel for it.”

Avery nodded, and kicked off her shoes before pulling on the sneakers she’d written all over.  She began to lace them up.

“Is there a rune for light or for darkness?” Verona asked.  “I did a thing with a fire rune when we went to John’s house, it didn’t work so well.”

“I could show you darkness,” Matthew said.  He was barbecuing.  They were in his and Edith’s backyard.

“What did you do for the fire rune?” Edith asked.

“Um,” Verona said, looking between them.

“Go to Edith first,” Matthew said.

“I want to know the runes and I want Edith’s breakdown,” Verona said, eyes wide.  She looked between them, then picked up her notebook.  “Can you draw the runes, Matthew?”

“I can.”

She handed him her notebook and pen, then went to Edith, pulling out her post-its and pen.

“So prepared,” Avery said.

“We have to be,” Verona said.  “It’s tonight.”

“I was going to go home to grab stuff before it started.”

“Me too,” Verona admitted.  “But I like having the stuff on me.”

“I’m keeping the ring with me,” Lucy said.

Avery, all laced up, very carefully set her feet down.  She stood, then dropped into a squat, her arms out to the side for balance.  She tapped her heels together twice.

Everyone present watched, Matthew pausing in his scribbling.

Avery jumped, wind stirring and kicking up cobwebs and dust all around her feet.  She cleared a good six feet, flailed her arms around momentarily, and then landed in a crouch.

“Ow,” Avery said.  “Okay.  The air rune doesn’t soften landings much.”

“That’s cool though,” Lucy said.  “You’re not going to break your face open or snap your leg when you accidentally launch yourself?”

“I hope not!”

“Air spirits are playful and capricious,” Edith said.  “They change temperaments easily.  Giving them power helps mollify them, but be careful.”

“Alright.  This is cool though.”

“Super cool,” Verona said.

“Even with the ability to draw on the assembly of Kennet Others for power, you’ll want to be careful with how often you use that.”

“Save it for things that matter?” Lucy asked.

“It might be better to use it for things that don’t matter,” Edith said.  “They’re not above pranks, and you don’t want to fall awkwardly at a key moment.”

Avery nodded, expression serious.

Matthew had finished writing the runes.  Verona took stock of it, then immediately copied one over to her cloak.

It just made sense to.

Verona got some more notes from Edith, but as Edith went on in her explanations, she got further from the stuff that was practical for tonight.

“Um, this is really helpful,” Verona said.

“I’m glad,” Edith said.  “I really think there’s no point in arming yourself against the Choir.”

“They’re that strong?” Lucy asked.

“You’re better off standing back and watching.  Do nothing except watch.  If you’re to interfere at all, you should understand it in full, first.”

“It’s helpful, still,” Verona said.  “But I’m thinking if I’m going to swing by my place, I should do it sooner than later.  If I time it right, my dad will be at his part time job.”

“Makes sense,” Lucy said.  “I never thought you’d walk away from lessons in magic.”

“We’ll rendezvous?” Verona asked.

“Can we chat for a minute before you go?” Lucy asked.

Verona nodded.

Lucy followed Verona around the exterior of Matthew’s house, casting a look backward toward Avery, who was experimenting with the shoes.

When they were at the garage end of the driveway, Lucy stopped.

“I’m worried,” Lucy said, quiet.

“After all the people who’ve been telling us to be careful, it’s good to be worried.”

“I’m worried about you.”

Verona smiled.  “Don’t be.”

“When John had the knife to your face… you didn’t seem like you cared.  You’ve been different and I can’t put my finger on why.”

“Don’t worry.  Really.  I’m more worried about you.  I know you’ve been down, your temper gets up-”

“Don’t distract,” Lucy said.  Her expression was stern, and in Verona’s Sight, her eyes were red where they should be white, pink where the irises would normally be a hazel color.  Loose strands of pink hair that had come free of the ponytail shifted in the light breeze.

“I’m not trying to.”

“I believe you.  I still think you’re doing it.”

Verona shook her head.

“Be safe.  If you get hurt because you’re not taking this seriously enough, I’m going to be so freaking mad at you.”

“I’m taking this more seriously than any of us three,” Verona said.

“Ronnie, I don’t want to call you a liar, but-”

“I am!” Verona said, intense now.

There was a rustling.  Avery had air-leaped over to a point at the side of the house where she could listen in and see.

“Charles had his life ruined by this stuff.  You know how we avoid that?  We learn it.  We don’t forget ourselves in the heat of the moment, which is something you might do.  You don’t forget key stuff at key moments, like Avery almost did the day we did the awakening.  I love you guys.  I really honestly do.  You’re great.  But I want to learn and to master this stuff because that’s how we stay on top of it.  It’s how we’re ready when the important stuff happens.”

Lucy’s hand was on Verona’s shoulder, the grip tight.

“I love you too, Ronnie.  If something happens to you, I don’t know how I’ll deal.”

“I do.  You’ll deal badly.  Which is why I’m not going to put you in that situation if I can help it, okay?”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Lucy said.  She released Verona.

“Fingers crossed I don’t have to deal with my dad.”

“You could draw something,” Avery suggested, from the background.

“Nah,” Verona said.

She hurried off.  Back to her house.

It wasn’t a short trip, and it was a little slower than it might have been, as she opened her notebook, where Matthew had written down the runes.

She checked every page, looking over it with the Sight, searching for markings, just to be sure.

Nothing except the two things he’d written down.

She jogged the last bit of the way to her house, to make sure she had time.

She winced, seeing her dad’s car in the driveway.

Damn.

She let herself in, quiet.

The Hungry Choir was supposed to come tonight.

She pulled off the extra stuff, set her bag down by the door, and made her way upstairs, avoiding the middle of the stairs, so they wouldn’t creak.

There were three thumps on the wall, heavy.

Her dad’s way of calling her when he didn’t want to raise his voice or get out of bed.  Supposedly because his migraines made the noise of shouting that bad.  She wasn’t sure how banging was any better.

“Verona!”

Well, seemed he didn’t have a migraine.

She opened his door.  He was lying in bed, propped up by pillows.

“You didn’t mow the lawn,” her father said.

“Got busy,” she said.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Verona.  I need you to pull your weight.”

“I do stuff.”

“You don’t try.  That’s the problem,” he said.  “Over and over again.  Your teachers say you put in the barest possible effort to get a passing grade.  You’re not dumb, but you seem to put all of your brains to figuring out ways to get out of things, or game the system, or make life as hard as possible on people like me and your teachers, who are just trying to equip you for the real world.”

She shrugged.

“It’s just us, Verona.  Your mother left, I’ve got work, I’ve got thirty six thousand dollars of debt from just the expenses of taking care of you and the house.  She doesn’t pay support when she should.  So I work the extra hours,” he said.  “Two jobs.”

She remained silent.

“My coworkers hate me.  My boss resents me.  I get home and I’m too tired to do anything.  And then I have to fight you every step of the way.  How many times have I asked you to do the lawn?”

“A bunch.”

“A lot, Verona.  The dishes in the sink are empty, the laundry’s piling up- you’re wearing clothes you wore when you were ten, when you could put a load on.”

“I did put a load on.”

“Don’t argue.  Please.  I can’t do it.  I can’t put up with it.  I-”

In the light of his television, she could see the moisture in his eyes.  The tears started flowing.

“I’m so alone, Verona.  I’m trying so hard and I have nothing to show for it.  No friends, no wife- your mother gave me an STD from someone she cheated on me with and then left.  I can’t convey how alone I am.”

She remained silent, standing in the doorway.

Her father sat there on his bed, sobbing.

“Do you want to leave?  Move to Thunder Bay?” he asked, his voice tremulous.

She remained silent.

“Do you?  Answer me!”

“No.”

“Because you don’t seem to want to be here.  You don’t seem to act like you want me as a dad.  If you left to go to your mom’s right now, what do you think would happen?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“I offered her dual custody and she didn’t take it.  She asked for holidays.”

“You’ve said,” Verona said, quiet.

“She hurt me so badly, leaving like she did.  She hurt us,” he said.  He hiccuped a sob.

Verona stood there, watching her dad.

She’d had a reason for not wanting to use the connection blocker.  There was the risk of the rebound, and she’d known from her father’s initial bout of silent treatment the day before that the rebound was already coming.

This… this wasn’t unusual.  This was closer to normal than not.

She turned to go.

“Do not walk out on me.  Don’t do what she did,” he said.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I want you to listen,” he said.

I have listened, she thought.  If I do all my chores, if I do everything, if I listen to you when you want to vent… we still do this two or three times a week.

If I don’t, it’s more like five times.  And I’d rather put up with this a couple more times a week and put off having to mow the lawn with Warmed Cow Shit.

“I want you to care.”

She wanted to care.

But this had been a thing for a couple years now.  Growing in intensity if anything.

She stood in the doorway and she couldn’t bring herself to care anymore.  The silent treatments, the whiplash of the mood changes sometimes, or the passive aggressive stuff, sometimes it got through.  But this?

This was something she was used to, to the point that she wondered if hardening her heart to an outpouring of emotion like this was what made someone a sociopath… because she cared that little.

She just felt a bit of revulsion, seeing her father grab a tissue to wipe at his snotty nose.

She stared at him, and after two or three minutes, he met her eyes.  He might have even seen that revulsion before she cleared it off her face.

“Go,” he said.  “Leave me, then.”

She turned and left.  She had permission.

She went to her room, getting the rest of her stuff, including a change of clothes, to something more uniformly dark.

At her desk, she ripped off a piece of paper.

On that paper, she wrote some stuff down.  Because tonight was the Hungry Choir.

And despite promises to Lucy, there was a chance something might happen to her.

With everything gathered up, she opened her front door.

“Miss,” she said.

She closed the door behind her and jogged down the stairs.

“Miss.”

She walked to the end of the driveway.

If she listened, really listened, could she hear the singing?

It was there, but she couldn’t place it.

“Miss.”

“I’m here.”

“Thanks,” she said, not looking for Miss or trying to spot the partially hidden woman before she started walking.  “Sorry, I can’t remember if you said to only call you if we needed you.  I had a question.”

“I’m at your disposal.”

“The day you told us about the practice,” Verona said.  “Talked about awakening… do you remember that?”

“I do.  Very clearly.”

“You said there were risks.  That stuff could happen if we did it wrong.  That we could die or worse.”

“That remains true,” Miss said.  The woman walked beside Verona, at an angle where she could barely see her.  There were no obstructing objects except Verona’s own hair.

“You said that, if we pushed too hard or crossed certain lines, we might lose our humanity.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s what sort of happened with Avery?  Her eye getting stuck?”

“In a way.”

Verona looked out over Kennet.  The singing was growing in intensity.

“I heard that and I knew.  I don’t want to be human anymore.”

“I suspected.”

“Lucy… she made a deal, that you wouldn’t stop us from getting to a good old age, having a full life.”

“That does interfere with your wants.”

“Is there a loophole?  Is there a way past it?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Can I find my own way past it?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Okay.  If I could, would you stop me?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Verona said.

She drew in a deep breath, blinked some moisture out of her eyes, and then sprinted, chasing the strings that tied her to Lucy and Avery.

The Hungry Choir sang and the singing reached out over Kennet.

Lucy

Lucy’s inventory, left to right, top to bottom:

• Backpack from Mission Canada, weatherproof and insulated.  Has inscription on padding where it is hidden from sight while worn.
• Lucy’s fox mask, with inscription on inside (shown below), painted orange-red.
• Hat, with inscription on brim
• Mantle (cape)
• Dog tag
• Two cans of pop (Gushing Granny Smith Soda & Cherry on Top Pop)
• Notecards, empty
• Pen & markers
• Investigation notebook (with watercolor pic of Charles, by Verona).
• Flashlight
• Hunting knife
• Inscription is depicted from backpack, a complex tri-elemental sign with radiating triangles (‘jet’) and hooks (‘turn’).
• Part of the inscription is depicted from hat brim.  Interlocked diamonds, keywords (school, police, family, foes, innocents, family, school, foes), and extended arms with a T-shape (‘block’) toward the brim and a circle toward the wearer.
• Inscription from the inside of the mask has three interlocked circles in a row, the leftmost and rightmost one surround the eyeholes for the mask.  ‘Light’ runes are depicted with two arms each, extending to triangles without underlines.
• The sword ring, with the point extended.

---

Verona

Verona’s stuff, from left to right, top to bottom:

• The folded up hungry choir pamphlet sitting in a circle of insulate signs.
• Verona’s backpack, striped canvas with some leather bits.
• Verona’s cat mask, painted black.  Has an inscription on the inside, detailed below.
• Verona’s cloak, bundled up.  Has an inscription on the inside, detailed below.
• Verona’s hat, sitting in the background.
• Dog tags.
• Pencil case with various colored pencils, pens, and other implements.
• Box-cutter knife.
• Some notecards with various incomplete inscriptions on them, waiting to be finalized.  One resembles her attempt to create light from 1.6
• Verona’s basic notebook, for scribbling down ideas and lessons.  Has the rune for light (a circle with a dot in it), a rune for darkness (a circle containing a large black circle sitting at one side, creating a crescent shape), and elaboration with runes for sun and moon; the same things but surrounded in six-pointed stars.
• Verona’s spellbook.  Has compiled & tidy notes from her basic notebook.  Her pages from ‘notes on practices’ are shown.
• The metal box for the Hot Lead.  The Hot Lead sits beside it.
• Verona’s watercolor sketchbook. Her illustration of Stiles is depicted and labeled.
• Verona’s feather pen, with a gold stem and black feather.
• Verona’s plastic watercolor brush, teal plastic.
• Inscription: from the interior of Verona’s mask.  The structure is similar to Lucy’s, but it has three interlocking diamond symbols.
• Inscription: from the inside of Verona’s cloak.  A large dark rune is surrounded by a circle with five radiating lines.  Words are depicted around the rim, difficult to read.

---

Avery

Avery’s inventory, from left to right, top to bottom:

• Avery’s gym bag with shoulder strap.
• Avery’s dark blue cloak hangs on the gym bag, with the dog tag wound around one portion of it.
• Avery’s deer mask sits leaning against the bag.  Her hat sits to the right.
• A first aid kit in a carrying case sits leaning against the front of the bag.
• A multitool sits by the kit.
• Avery’s hockey stick, inscribed, sits to the far right of the image.
• Avery’s sneakers, inscribed.
• The inscription is complex, with a circle within a triangle.  Within the circle, a sign for mercury overlaps an air rune.  Two cross shapes stand out a diagonal.  Extending from the left and right of the triangle’s base are two more circles, each with earth runes.
• The hockey stick’s inscription is depicted at the bottom; two signs for ‘male’ or ‘mars’ stand out to either side.  Within a diamond at the center is a circle with radiating triangles in every direction.  It houses a large earth rune.

---

Interlude

Last Thursday: Inventories

---

Gabriel chewed on his pen.  The website, the same color as the flyer, was open.  Unlike everything else on the site that was badly formatted, badly structured, or indecipherable, the submission box was right there on the page.  Clear, inviting.  He’d already typed his name in.  He hadn’t submitted.

He’d started with the idea that this was a multi-platform game with a lot of people contributing to it, improv or acting combined with video, recordings, and various websites.  When photos were shared, they were original.  He couldn’t see any errant pixels or JPEG artifacts, there were no easy explanations, no images he recognized or could find with a reverse image search.  When there were voice recordings, there wasn’t a single voice that felt inorganic, like someone acting badly, and he had a good ear for that.  When there was distortion, it seemed real, and not like something put there by a computer.  The same was true for those limited few recordings he’d found online.  As an experience, it was really well done.

This, as much as the supposed prize, was perfectly tailored to him.  His own background, his inclinations.  He was already thinking of how he might contribute to it, when and if he got around to making something for the fake mythology of it.

But that illusion was falling away.  The idea it was a game.

He clicked around the website.  After the flier had been taken from him, he’d been frustrated.  He didn’t know how Lucy Ellingson had known he had the flier, he’d even revisited that spot in the lunch room and tried to find if there were hidden cameras, after Lucy’s friend Verona had quizzed him before lunch.  No cameras, Lucy hadn’t been there that day, and coordination with other students would require her to secretly collaborate with students outside her friend group.

Both of the two girls had been cagey, too.

He’d waited until the end of the day and all through school today for the next step in the game.  If he’d been set up to be a participant, then there would have to be people showing up to quiz him, to say more, to give that trail of information he could follow.  They’d have to sell him on the next stage in things, while someone watched the interaction with their phones set to record.

The longer it went without that happening, the more he’d felt like he’d missed out on something.  Worse, it was tailor made to him.  Aimed at him.  It felt that perfect for him, yet anyone could have seen that folded up paper wedged between the lunch table and the wall.  If any part of it was real, it spoke to him and promised a prize perfect for him.  If it wasn’t… the fact he knew about computers, video editing, sound editing, and he was a good actor, it made getting involved feel so right.

When the premise had felt so right, each passing hour without someone following up or leading him to the next part of the narrative felt more and more wrong.

He really didn’t feel like it was a game now.

He clicked around the website.  He hadn’t remembered it -the website address was long and nonsensical- and it hadn’t stayed in his computer history, but he’d had the flier since lunch on Friday.  He’d spent the weekend digging into the lore, and had found a site where people were talking about it.  The site had cleared itself from his web history, somehow, but the research he’d done hadn’t.  He’d traced his way back, found a page with the link, and he was back, even without the flier.

His mom was baking downstairs, and it smelled amazing.  It made his anxiousness increase, as he continued navigating the site, looking for angles, possible hidden text.  Nothing lined up, the site design wasn’t intuitive, and there were numerous instances where sections of the site that felt like they should be main pages were separated by multiple clicks, where one click might lead to a broken page, another might lead to a gallery of distorted images with the link easy to miss between two images, and yet another might require horizontal scrolling for thirty seconds before the link appeared at the bottom, easily missed.  All in an outdated interface from twenty-five years ago, on an ugly website the same color as the flyer.

He opened up the source code and found a mess.  He looked through it, searching for anything in numbers, letters, and characters that might be a pattern, then closed the sub-window.  People way better than him had dug into it, studied it, and given their analysis, and they’d concluded that what was on the site didn’t match what was in the code.  The other site behaviors didn’t line up with what was in the code.

He’d tried to copy-and-paste text to a notepad file so it was easier to put together, but only got gibberish and broken characters.  He’d painstakingly tried to copy it over manually, the website on one screen and notepad on the other, and then the notepad file had crashed.  Notepad.

So he’d tried to copy it over by hand.  Simple words for a ritual to be voiced aloud, nothing fancy.  The further he got, the more he found he was transposing words, or misspelling.  When he went back to check earlier stuff, he found more errors he hadn’t even realized he was making.

That one was hard to shrug off or explain away.

Frustrated at the lack of progress or new information, he minimized the window.

A beep made Gabe jump.  He glanced back toward the door, looked back to the computer, and found the notification.  Peyton was online.  One of his friends from school.

Gabriel007: Hi!

Peytowin: o hi
Peytowin: I saw ur movie

He smiled.

Gabriel007: How did you like it?

Peytowin: it was good!
Peytowin: the lion cub was cute!
Peytowin: & u were so cute as a kid!

His smile dropped from his face.

Peytowin: u did a good job!!

He’d been in a movie when he was nine.  It hadn’t made it to major theaters, but it hadn’t been small either.  A lot of the time, according to his cousin, it was shown in Christian summer camps on movie night.

He’d wanted to keep acting.  His parents had supported him, paying for lessons in acting, his parents had paid his aunt and uncle for room and board so he could go to Toronto and go to an acting school for a semester.  They’d paid for singing lessons and lessons in piano and guitar.  There had been a few close calls with other opportunities.  A ‘we’ll call you’ that had actually sounded interested, followed by their production shutting down.  There had been a thing for a TV show, and the director had liked working with him, he’d had good chemistry with the actors, he hadn’t messed up once, and people had even said they were impressed, and then ninety percent of his stuff had been cut in the editing room.

He had told boys in his class about minor celebrities he’d met and events he’d gone to, and they hadn’t believed him.  The friends he’d made outside of class had been equally skeptical, except for Peyton.  Peyton was nice.  Peyton was cute.

Inspired, he typed.

Gabriel007: You could be in a movie
Gabriel007: Your cute

Peytowin: noo

Gabriel007: Do you want to do something this week? You & me?

Peytowin: umm maybe…
Peytowin: when?

Gabriel007: Tonight?

He looked at the minimized tab with the site still on it.  He maximized it to see his name lying there in the white space, unsubmitted.  It would be a scheduling conflict if Peyton wanted to do something.

Peytowin: its 2 late sry

Gabriel007: Tomorrow night?

Peytowin: I got plans with vince & dylan

He itched to type something in response to that.

Vince and Dylan were other guys in their friend group and they were the guys who stuck to Peyton a lot.  They got kind of hostile and crabby, especially if Gabe was hanging around for more than a couple of days in a row, and especially if Gabe was talking to Peyton a lot.  He’d had his one and only blow-up fight with Peyton after he told her he thought they were toxic, and that she should stop hanging around with them.  He was pretty sure that it had been their idea for Peyton to go silent for nearly a week after.  It was only after he found a chance to talk to her without them around that they hadn’t been able to stop her from letting him back into the group.

Vince and Dylan had been hard to get along with since.  Ganging up on him, getting mad at the slightest excuse, and even taking seats next to Peyton so he couldn’t sit next to her.  It was childish.

Childish and frustrating.  It wasn’t like the guys in his own class really talked to him, and his class was all grade eights and nines; when the boys in his class rejected him, they talked to other people in their grades and shut him out.

Gabriel007: Thurs?

Peytowin: I think I have to have dinner with my family.
Peytowin: I’m busy a lot of nights sry

Gabriel007: Friday?

Peytowin: umm
Peytowin: we’ll talk about it when its closer 2 then
Peytowin: no promises
Peytowin: I g2g
Peytowin: I got on to play a game before bed
Peytowin: if I wait 2 long my dad will make me log off mid game & I’ll rank down

Gabriel007: GLHF
Gabriel007: shoot me a message before you log off and let me know if you won

He waited a minute for the response, and then closed the conversation window.

Things hadn’t been the same since Vince and Dylan had stuck their noses in.

He clicked around the sites some more.  Most of his attention was on the preparations page.  A list of things to do before one of the rounds of the ritual.

Rest… he hadn’t slept super well last night, with the ranker thing and the flyer getting taken from him.  Hydration… he could do that.  Clothes…

He got up and went to his closet.  He had a faux leather jacket that he was pretty sure could take a beating.  Jeans were tough.  He had hiking boots.  He also had some old rollerblading stuff in the closet, from back when he’d started at this school.  He’d thought about rollerblading to school every day, but on his first day Alayna had made fun of him for how he waved his arms around while rollerblading around, and after rollerblading home that day, he’d never really taken it out of his closet.

Having poise and posture and presenting himself the way he wanted to was important to him, after so many acting classes, and being made fun of for doing the opposite cut too deep.  Thinking about it gave him a bad feeling, and he felt like it would linger.

If he wore the pads and wristguards and stuff along with the jacket, he suspected it would start to hamper his movements.  Which was better?

There was a knock at his door.

“Come in.”

His mom opened the door.  She had a plate of beignets, apparently jelly filled, and some cookies that might have been shortbread, dusted with icing sugar.

“Brought you a treat,” she said.  She crossed his room and placed the plate on the corner of his desk.  “I remember you said you liked these, and this is a cookie recipe I got from Sharon.”

“Thanks,” he said, eyeing the plate at his desk.  He still stood in front of his open closet.

“What are you up to?”

“I dunno,” he said.  “Trying to decide on some stuff.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted tea,” she told him.  “Or if you want something else.”

Caffeine was something the later parts of the preparations page talked about.  Caffeine and other drugs.  It was hard to strike the right balance with some drugs, but people were pretty positive about caffeine.

“Please.  Thanks,” he said.

She walked up behind him and ruffled up his hair.  Her hand touched his arm.  It was thin, despite his efforts at doing pull-ups and pushups.  He’d had a huge growth spurt, and he was trying to get his body fat down.  He felt like he was getting the worst of all worlds, and at the same time, his mom was getting all anxious at him.

“Are you still bothered about the phone thing?” she asked.

The ranker.  He’d sat at zero with four other boys.

“I was trying not to think about it,” he said, a little more bitter and snappish than he meant to be.

“Sorry,” she said.  “I was thinking of talking to the school about it.”

He shrugged, his back still to her, the closet still in front of him.

“I know you said they didn’t make the phone thing, but they should talk to students and stop people from using it or talking about it.”

“Yeah,” he said.

She rubbed his arm, a concerned look on her face, then dropped her hand.

“I’ll get your tea,” she said, quiet.

“Thanks mom,” he said.  “Love you.”

“I love you too, Gabriel.”

He sat down heavily in his chair, and ate the powdered beignets with raspberry filling, and the powder-dusted cookies.  He smiled at his mom as she brought the tea, and when the door was closed, looked up Peyton on social media, finding pictures and saving them to a folder.

He stepped into his bathroom, adjacent to his room, to wash his face and hands of the powder.  He looked up at the mirror, his face lit harshly from above, dripping with beads of moisture.

With wet hands, he pushed his hair back and away from his face.  He was trying to grow it out so that if there were any auditions or anything, he could go long or tell them he was willing to cut it.  Right now it was in an awkward middle stage where it poofed up, especially on one side.  It took a lot of hair gel to get it to cooperate, and the gel didn’t last most of the day.

A year or so ago he’d started growing up, with an emphasis on the up.  He wasn’t the cute kid he’d been anymore.  His face was taking on a weird shape.

It was feeling more and more like food was an enemy, and it wasn’t playing fair.  If he couldn’t be a kid actor, he needed to fit other molds.  There were guys with weird faces who did really well, but they were also pretty fit.  Having a six pack like they did seemed to be impossible, when it required super low body fat, and he couldn’t even fathom how they did it where they had a six pack and bulging veins all the time.  Not when that kind of muscle required protein, which required eating more.

He felt like he was fumbling along, struggling to find the right answer, while a hundred conflicting expert voices told him different things, and non-expert voices like his mom pushing other food at him.  Everything was unnecessarily hard.  Sleeping, when he was thinking of the phone app.  Eating, when he felt like he was doing something wrong no matter how much, how little, or what he ate.  With Peyton.  With his classmates.

When he’d done the thing for the app, he’d told himself he would do badly, but that internal voice had had a nudge and a wink, like he’d be surprised.  He was an actor, he was thin, he was tall, he dressed nice.  He might even be middle or upper-middle of the list.  That it would open doors and girls could fight over him, and things would be better.

The result hadn’t validated that small part of Gabriel that liked himself.  It had given proof to the insidious and constant voices from the big, ugly part of himself that didn’t.

He had powdered sugar on his shirt.

He pulled it off.  Whatever he did tonight, whether he went to bed or clicked that button, he’d need to change.

Gabe stared at himself in the mirror.  His body hair was starting to come in, but it had started at his nipples, making them look like daisies with black hair instead of white petals.  He had more hairs misplaced in the middle of his chest, halfway between nipples and belly button, and they weren’t even short, they were long and scraggly like the nipple ones.  His face was a weird too-broad shape, his hair was in a weird middle stage, his arms and torso were disproportionately long, and he didn’t have a six pack despite his efforts.

He felt like the person in the mirror was the enemy.  If that person in the mirror could be better, maybe Peyton would accept his offer for a date.  Not just hanging out one-on-one as friends like he’d offered tonight, but an actual date.

Staring at the almost unrecognizable person in the mirror, he felt his expression twist without his wanting it to.  He smeared a wet hand against his reflection, to mar the image, and then picked up the cup.

He drank water, cup after cup.  He was still working on drinking when he opened the cabinet, searching for medications and stuff.  He searched for ‘the pink stuff’, as the website had called it, and had it.  Anti-emetics.  They settled the stomach and stopped people from throwing up.

Nothing.  He’d have to ask his parents, and he didn’t want to field his mom’s questions about his diet and stuff.

Besides, this wasn’t two hours before.

He moved on.  He was acting as if it were a certainty that it would work, he knew.  Because it had to work.

He got dressed, choosing the jacket and a pair of jeans.  He laced up the boots and then walked over to the bathroom where he hadn’t yet put away his old first aid kit.  They took it camping when they went, but in the off-season they kept it in his bathroom.  He found gauzy bandages and wrapped them around his neck, then his forearm.  There were more bandages that were for other kinds of injury, like splints and wrapping sprains, and he used those on his other forearm, where he trapped a magazine against his forearm.  He did the same with his shins, and then his midsection.

This had to work.

He couldn’t wear everything from his rollerblading kit, but he could wear the wrist guards, buttoning up the jacket sleeves around them.  His hand mobility was still okayish.

Then he stretched.  Joints popped and he worried he was doing more harm than good, but he followed the advice.

There were parts of the website that were barred, only for paying members.  In the main chat, they said it was to screen out the people who weren’t committed, and to help keep the site running.  Obviously, though, Gabe didn’t have a credit card.  He wondered if he could ask his mom for one without being suspicious.

No, he’d see if it was for real first.  If it was, it would go for eight nights, spread out across three weeks.

He went to the site, and he read over the ritual while continuing to stretch, going over it.

He finished stretching, and grabbed his rollerblading helmet.  Then he sat down in his computer chair.  It didn’t feel like the next logical action after all the prep, and he almost lost all momentum.  His body was stiff with the bindings and the protection he had strapped on, and he felt overly dressed and overly equipped for the act of dicking around on his computer.

He stared at the screen for a good minute, checked the discussion chat, which was emptier than it normally was, and then returned to the screen.

This had to work.

He had no idea what he was supposed to do if it didn’t.  He needed an answer, an escape, a way to make things make sense, even he had to distort reality a bit to do it.

He clicked.

Gabriel J. Necaise.

Submitted.

Gabriel felt like an idiot.  The feeling only got worse as seconds passed and nothing changed.

There was a bloop as Peyton messaged him.  She didn’t always before logging out for the night, even with reminders, but it would be a quick ‘night’ before logging off.  If she’d finished this soon, she’d probably lost right away.  Too bad.

He didn’t have the heart to look.

He’d get involved on other levels.  It was a cool idea.  He could do videos and contribute to the mythology, he knew.

He still felt devastated.

Had the timing been wrong?  The analysis and collaboration site had said it didn’t matter, but that had never made sense to him.  Had he waited too long in the evening?  Was it better to do it at sundown?

He looked at his alarm clock by his bed and jumped a bit.  The number and arrangement of digits didn’t fit the normal spots or slots for characters on his alarm clock, too numerous, and too crammed in.

It read ‘367.15’ followed by three numbers that were changing so rapidly he couldn’t follow them.  The last two digits after the decimal point could have been seconds, but they didn’t seem to go down at a measured or usual pace.  Faster than seconds.

When the .15 lurched their way down to zero, it changed to 366.75 and continued ticking down in inconsistent amounts and speeds, sometimes three seconds at a time, sometimes one.

He looked back at his computer, and opened up the message from Peyton.  A short word in gibberish, aligned to the bottom right, not the top left.  The gibberish looked like what he’d seen when copy-pasting the text from the website to a notepad file.

And her portrait, shown in the top left of the conversation window.  Her face was missing.

Disconcerted, he closed it.  Behind that window was the open folder with all the social media pictures he’d downloaded of her.  Each one was different, modified.  Faces gone.  He closed that too, his heart racing.

A few clicks told him that websites were now impossible to navigate, like the website he’d submitted his name to had been.  Text was unreadable.  The clock in the bottom right of his monitor lurched downward, a little slower than his alarm clock at first, then racing forward to catch up and surpass it.

It lined up with what he’d read.  They had from midnight until dawn, or until the ritual finished, whichever came first.  Nevermind that he hadn’t clicked the button anywhere near midnight; the time available was supposed to always be midnight to dawn.

And the time that counted down didn’t go by normal rules.

He got up and crossed his room, helmet under one arm.

His house smelled strange, in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.  It didn’t smell bad, but it didn’t smell good either.  Dusty, maybe, mingled with an overly human smell.

He headed for the stairs, and something big came at him.

Scrambling back, he bumped into the table at the end of the hallway.

“Ah!” he cried out, half in surprise and half in pain.

His eyes widened, his hand clapping over his mouth.

Too late.  They appeared, tearing out of his parent’s bathroom and from under the table.  Children, a girl with overalls and her hair in braids, and a messy looking boy who was only wearing tighty whiteys and a long-sleeved shirt.  The girl pushed the boy out of the way, sending him sprawling, and grabbed Gabriel’s wrist.

He pulled away, but she was stronger than him.  Her mouth opened, and her broken teeth bit into his elbow.  Her bite strength was enough to get through the jacket, the magazine he’d trapped against his arm, and ground into or through the bone of the elbow in a way that made pain jolt through his arm, back, and the upper right of his chest.

If he hadn’t had his hand clapped over his mouth, he might have made another noise, or swore.  His eyes went wide and his arm jerked.

The ‘miss a word’ rule.  Crying out counted, it got punished, and the result tended to make people cry out more.

She let go of him, snatched the helmet from his hand, and with the pain at his elbow, he didn’t have the hand strength to resist.  She backed away, bumping into the pantsless boy, who growled resentfully at her.  The two children -waifs- backed away, one retreating into one of the side rooms of the hallway, the other further down the hall.

Gabe was cornered, because to his left was the thing in the stairwell, and to his right were the children in the hallway.

The thing ascended the stairs.  It wore his mother’s clothes, it had his mother’s hair, but it didn’t move like her, and like Peyton’s pictures, it had a giant hole instead of a face.  Also like Peyton’s, the hole was framed by teeth, like a mouth stretched open as wide as it could go, teeth large, stretched out from forehead to chin.  The interior was like a mouth’s, but darker.  Small streams of drool leaked out from between teeth and over the lip, making the front of her dress wet.

Not his mom, but one of the Witnesses.  That was on the website too.  They were supposed to be harmless, but people hadn’t figured out everything.

She moved like she was sleepwalking, ascending the stairs, walking past Gabe as he pressed himself backward against the wall.

He hurried downstairs, being mindful of the steps, and pulled off his jacket as best as he could with the pain at his elbow.

Stupid mistake, Gabe, he thought.  You get one.  Only the one.

He used the bandages he’d already wrapped around his arms to bind up his elbow.  Gauze, and then the splinting bandage to secure it in place.  It throbbed more from the pressure.

A waif was in his living room, sitting on the back of the couch.  A long-ish haired child of indeterminate gender, wearing a shirt with a skull on it.  Just next to the child was the back of Gabe’s dad’s head.  His dad’s face had the mouth-shaped hole, and the way it bent back suggested his head had hinged back at one point, the lower half at a different orientation to the upper half, so the mouth lolled open.  The thing’s teeth were ordinary size, but there were two rows of them, in too large a number, with the occasional tooth wedged into the mix so it stood up and out.

The child watched, expression blank, legs kicking against the back of the couch.  Behind the child was the glowing television that provided backlight, displaying a distorted non-channel, like what showed on cable when clicking up into the upper nine-hundreds, flickering, blurring into itself, the colors changing.  The clock by the television marked the countdown.  349.45, with three more numbers after that changed too fast to follow with the naked eye.

Gabe retreated back, stepping into the dining room.

Not the dining room.

The dining room table was gone, replaced with a counter with laundry.  The washing machine and dryer were side by side instead of the washer being stacked on top, and laundry was folded.  An ironing board and clothes rack were set up against the wall.  A dehumidifier groan-hummed in a corner, its display not reading the current humidity level, but the countdown.  348.15.

The kitchen had changed too.  Some of the tools and storage stuff from the garage and basement had been moved here.  The stove was gone, replaced by a secondhand television set.  Tools sat scattered on the counter.

He opened cabinets as he passed them, looking up as a child entered the room from the other door.  Her clothes were old fashioned, her hair dyed with a stripe of green, her mouth ajar.  When he walked around the room, he kept the central workshop table between himself and her.

They weren’t supposed to attack if he didn’t break a rule, but it was hard to let his guard down around a strange kid who stared at him, especially after one of them had attacked him.  He kept one eye on her as he kept investigating.

The contents of the cabinets had changed.  No more cereal, no tuna, no oatmeal, nothing canned.

No forks, no knives, no spoons, no plates.

He picked up an especially long screwdriver with a wedge tip.  There was a bang and the sound of things falling to the ground.  The child on the other side of the table was gone.

He backed up as she came tearing through and past the storage boxes beneath the table, too fast.  One of her hands seized his wrist, the other the screwdriver.  Her eyes were wide open, intense, her breathing hard.

Have no knife, he thought.  He relaxed his grip on the tool.  She took it and immediately backed off.

Not punished with a bite unless he actually used the ‘knife’, or held onto it for too long.  According to the field reports, such a thing tended to involve picking up and using improvised tools in the spur of the moment.

His elbow really hurt.

He checked out more of what was supposed to be the kitchen, and then let himself out the back door, into his backyard.

The lawn had been replaced with gravel.  There was no garden.  There were no bugs flying around the decorative light by the back door.  No birds in the trees, which looked more like concrete than wood.  There was a waif sitting on the fence.  A girl wearing a baseball cap and oversized jersey, with bare feet dirty and raw.  She smiled as she saw him, biting her lip at the same time.  Her eyes were hidden by her cap.  The shadows danced slightly, as if they were beneath a stuttering light.

He looked up.

The moon flickered, like it was trying to hold ten or twelve different positions in the sky at once, the positions close enough to touch one another or overlap, but never sitting still.

Now that he was outside, he could hear the singing, faint, echoing over Kennet.  He could identify the direction that the bulk of it came from.

He turned, heading for the gate so he could get to the main street.

His heart leaped as he heard more scrambling, that mad rustle, with feet crunching through gravel.

Hands seized his pants leg.  The girl with the cap.

He couldn’t speak, but if he could, he would have told her he was going, he had to go through the gate to get there.

Other waifs poured out of the house.  One jumping from the window of what should’ve been the kitchen.  Ten or twelve, including the ones he’d already seen, like the girl with the stripe in her hair and the old fashioned dress, the child of indeterminate gender with the skull shirt, the boy with the underpants, and the girl with the overalls who had blood around her mouth.

More hands gripped him.  If he pulled with all his strength, he could pull them off the ground, or get them off balance, but they refused to release him, and they pulled him off balance.

He grunted as he hit the ground.

Grunts were fine.  He was glad of that.  The rule they’d worked out on the site was that it couldn’t be anything that could be mistaken as part of a word.  ‘Ah’ and ‘uh’ counted.  Grunts and whistles didn’t.

He had to keep that fact in mind as they roughly dragged him, grabbing his clothes, the boy without pants on grabbing the hair at the back of Gabriel’s head.  It was all he could do to keep from having his face driven into the gravel.  His narrow waist made it hard to keep his pants up, so he had to fight to grab his belt.  They took him in the most straightforward direction, straight to the fence, where half of them scrambled up, balancing or hanging off the top, the other half holding him.  They passed him up like he was some inanimate object, got him over the top, the upper edge of the fence scraping against his jacket and pelvis, and then roughly dumped him onto the other side, before leaping down onto and around him.

He tried to get to his feet, but they didn’t care to let him.  Hands with fingernails ranging from the ragged to the black-painted grabbed him and pulled him off balance again, dragging him across more gravel, then concrete.  He heard a splash before he even saw water, and gulped in a large breath.

They dragged him into the neighbor’s pool.  The water was salt water, not chlorinated, and stung his eyes.  He was dimly aware of them jumping in after him, grabbing him while he was under, so he could barely flounder.

They tugged at him intermittently rather than cleanly dragging him, as the air in his lungs began to run out.

Don’t form a syllable when you gasp, he told himself.  He was aware that his ‘armor’ was water-logged, now.  The magazines he’d bound around his shin had come free, and floated out of his pants leg and into the water as he kicked his leg in an effort to get forward.  If I get a chance to gasp.

They tugged and pulled, working as a group, dragging him over the raised concrete lip at the pool’s edge.  He coughed and gulped in air with his mouth wide and tongue stretched out, but he managed to avoid making more sounds.

They were out of the neighbor’s yard and halfway across the street before he managed to get his feet under him and stand up.  The baseball cap girl held onto his sleeve, marching toward the destination, and because of her height, she pulled him down so he was forced to stoop, his back bent.  Another one walked closely enough in front of him that he kept kneeing the boy in the back and stumbling.  The kid didn’t seem to care.

The music grew louder as they got closer.  It reached its peak at the town center, which wasn’t far from school.  The movement through places didn’t seem to follow logic much more than the traversal of the website had.  It was fast, rough, with abrupt changes between environments.

There were Witnesses.  Tons of them.  Standing outside stores.  Standing in the middle of the street.  Sitting in driver’s seats, in cars with the engines off, giant mouths instead of faces.  Messed up teeth.  Sometimes with tongues lolling out of mouths, and sometimes drooling.

One Witness for every person who would have been out this evening.

He couldn’t even guess at the number of the children.  They stood at the edge of rooftops, sitting on cars, in groups.  A few that were close to him as he was pulled along reached out to try to get a grip and add their strength to things.  One succeeded, latching onto Gabriel’s ear, bending him into an even more stooped position.

All together, they let go of him, and he dropped to his knees, soaked, dirty, scraped up and breathing hard, one hand at his ear.

There were five more people present, gathered into a loose circle.  They ranged from a black-haired girl Gabriel’s age to a guy with a beard and belly who could have been a dad.  The nervousness of the group was palpable, with one skinny, older teenager with tattoos pacing, and the beard guy was fidgeting and looking up at the clock a lot.

The intersection they were in formed a T-shape, and the biggest building at the intersection was the town center, big, concrete, with a gazebo-like structure on the tower, which also featured a clock.

There were four hands of the same length on the clock, and they all moved clockwise at different speeds, in fits and starts.  The moon was behind the tower, still flickering violently.

There’s supposed to be eight of us, Gabriel thought, as he undid the buttons at his wrists, temporarily removed his wrist-guards, and adjusted the wraps, getting rid of the most waterlogged magazines that weighed him down more than they offered protection.

Headlights illuminated their group.  Weaving around and through witnesses, the children in the street backing out of the way, a car pulled up to their group.  The door slammed.

Gabriel recognized the girl from his school, even though he didn’t know her name or anything much about her.  Just a face he’d seen.  She always wore sunglasses, and wore them now, along with a real leather jacket and jeans.  She’d strapped on something like a hard wrap of leather around one arm, and the other arm had a covering that extended out over the hand, studded with metal.

She was halfway from the car to them when a child reached out, grabbing the armor at her hand, latching onto it.  She reached down to unstrap it, and left it with the child as she continued walking forward, frowning.  The hand the armor had been covering had only two fingers and a thumb.  She pulled off her sunglasses, and one of her eyes was missing.  She’d drawn on the skin where her eye should be, a winking eye, like a half circle with radiating ‘eyelashes’.

He’d seen that winking eye as an avatar on the site.  He got her attention, then ‘knocked’ the knuckles of one fist against his shoulder.  His elbow protested, every movement pulling torn skin tight, while reminding him that something had chipped or cracked the bone.

She smiled, knocking her shoulder.

Of the seven people present, three more repeated the gesture.  The ones who didn’t were the girl with black hair and the beard guy.

Five of them who’d done research and seen the site, then.  Gabe, Wink, Tattoos, a heavier girl with a big jacket, and a guy who might have been First Nations, who looked pretty ridiculously fit.

Why would you do this if you were already that perfect? Gabe wondered.

The music began to get softer.  The guy with tattoos who was doing all the pacing looked at them, making a hand gesture to be quiet.

There was distant muffled screaming that steadily got closer and closer.

Children dragged someone else.  A woman.  Her screams were muted by her own hand at her lower face, and her other hand held something wooden that the children were grabbing and pulling on, helping with the dragging process.

They dropped her at the edge of the rough circle.  Their eighth contestant, who fell in a heap.  She sobbed, her hand over her mouth, snot at one nostril, tears all down her cheeks, her hand still holding onto a wooden crutch.  A child leaned in, intent on biting her fingers, and she snatched her hand back.

The crutch was taken away.  She continued to sob, stopping only to scream, hand at her mouth.

She was missing a foot, with only a stump terminating halfway down her leg.  The other foot was prosthetic.  Her arm was bare, and she had six circles on it.  Six phases of the moon for six rounds of this ritual.  She hadn’t worn layers, and the narrow strap of her top made her messed up shoulder pretty obvious.  It had ridden up, and the part of her stomach that hadn’t been scraped up by being dragged was red, scarred and dimpled, like serious cellulite covered in burn tissue.

With her arrival, the singing around this weird, altered Kennet had ceased entirely.  It was silent, except for her ongoing sobbing.

His heart pounded, looking down at her.

She screamed again, and he stepped toward her, bending down.  The guy with the tattoos snapped his fingers twice in quick succession, and when Gabe looked at him, shook his head.

Gabe hesitated, partially straightening.

‘Wink’ stepped over the girl, put a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, and led him away.  She held up a fist in front of her chest, then ‘knocked’ her shoulder.

Rule.  Cooperation.

He looked back at the screaming, sobbing woman.

‘Wink’ tapped his shoulders to get his attention, then made the cooperation sign before holding out her good hand, all fingers and thumb extended.

Cooperation part five.  Injuries.  The website had given instructions.  What to take care of and how.  Injuries changed after the night was over, becoming more like birth defects or injuries they’d had since they were babies.  Memories and attitudes changed to compensate.

And if one person’s injuries got bad enough, they were supposed to leave the dead weight.

The website had made it sound so reasonable.

It didn’t feel reasonable now, but…

He nodded.  Survival came first.

The woman ‘knocked’ at her shoulder.  Cooperation.  One finger extended on her bad hand.

Cooperation part one.  Roles.

They were starting now.

They quickly split up the roles.  Wink took leader, and nobody really seemed upset about it.  Tattoos was designated ‘forward’, Beard Guy and the Big Coat girl that was between Gabriel and Wink’s age were given similar roles.  Gabriel and a rather built teenage guy were tasked with the flanks.  The black haired girl Gabe’s age was designated for the ‘fence’ role.  Gabe got a glimpse of the marks at her arm.  The girl with black hair didn’t really seem to know the hand signals, maybe because she hadn’t found or thought to look for the websites, but she had two marks at her forearm, near the elbow.  She’d done this before and had interacted with this group.

More hand signals.  Cooperation, part two.

Setting the field.

People had driven in and some of the cars nearby were theirs, and they’d brought stuff.  Netting, plastic fence, and mesh.  Tattoo had two orange plastic containers of gasoline, and began to pour them out onto the ground.

The woman lay there near the middle of the intersection, sobbing, as they prepped.  Gabe watched as Wink wordlessly demonstrated how to hang and set up the barriers.  It had to be easy to collapse if they needed it collapsed.

Gabe finished one corner as best as he could with only his left hand, then moved on.

As he rounded the corner of a building to help with the next bit of fence, he saw people looking out to the side.

Three figures were approaching.  They could almost be mistaken for the children that were scattered everywhere, but they were too animated, and too curious about their surroundings, looking around and looking up at the moon, where the children of this place were focused wholly on the ritual’s participants.  They couldn’t be Witnesses, because they had faces…

Animal faces, two of them wearing wide-brimmed hats, the other with a cord tying her hat to her neck.

The cat-faced girl had shadow clinging close to her cloak, to the point it was hard to make her out in the dark, not helped by the dark fur of her face.  Her eyes flashed violet as she looked over everyone and everything.  Her cloak was pulled over her hat, brim and point swept back, and made the hood more pointy behind her head.

The one with the fox’s face was literally smoking, the smoke flowing down her body and cloaking most of it, forming a whorl at her feet.  When traces of the smoke graced her orange-furred face, the glowing of her red eyes extended to the smoke.  Her hair did something similar, fox’s fur becoming long, tight curls with a faint red tint, the ends of the hair impossible to distinguish from the rising smoke.

She set those glowing eyes on Gabe, staring him down, until he looked away.  He almost missed seeing her throw something down at the ground.  When he looked up, he could see that the smoke that rolled off her and down to the ground had helped cloud a figure standing behind her.  A scary looking guy who carried a heavy-duty gun.

Children immediately reached out, seizing the gun.  The man kicked one, hard, saying something Gabriel couldn’t make out, and the children backed off, growling.

The third girl was quicker, moving from a point behind the other two, catching up, and skipping easily over the four-foot high fence of thick plastic netting, finer nets, and the barbed wire that Tattoos was stringing up.  A long cape fluttered behind her before she landed in a crouch, a hockey stick resting against her shoulder.  She hurried forward to the woman who was sobbing.  Her face was a deer’s, with antlers.

Children came after the hockey stick.  She stuck the end of it out, catching one in the shoulder, and it looked like the child had been hit by a car.  The kid went flying, and the stick cracked a bit lengthwise.

She hopped up to grab the railing of a second floor balcony, where the kids couldn’t easily reach her.

“We have questions,” the Cat said.  She climbed onto the roof of the car and used that as a jumping off point, landing on the road on the other side of the fence.  She walked over toward her friend the Deer.

The Fox continued to stare Gabriel down.

Gabriel placed his hand flat over his mouth, shaking his head.

“You can nod or shake your head.  We can play twenty questions.”

Gabriel hesitated.  It was a complication in an already dangerous situation.  A distraction.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.  Tattoos.  It was a guy he’d seen around the highschool, maybe a graduate from last year.  Gabe could see the scarring at the bend of the older one elbow, the circles marking the three rounds he had participated on the other.

The scarring would be from drugs.

The website had said drug users sometimes participated.  A different kind of consumption, maybe.

The older teenager with the tattoos pulled Gabe away from the three girls.

“Don’t be stupid, Gabriel,” the Fox said, the soldier standing behind her.  “Don’t be stupider than you’ve already been.”

She knew of him?  He felt like he should recognize the voice, but every time he tried to put a face to the sound, he could only picture the fox’s face.

Tattoos snapped his fingers twice to get Gabe’s attention.  He pointed up at the clock.

As far as he could interpret it, they’d already used up half of their allotted time, somehow.

Nervousness gripped him.  His hand went to his elbow, which still hurt.  There were so many children nearby.  If he had to guess, there were one hundred and fifty to two hundred.  An assembled crowd.  Maybe thirty witnesses.  The three strangers with animal heads.

But they had to mind the time.  The field had been set.  That was part two of the order of things.

He walked away from the Fox.  After a short delay, others followed.

They had to focus on this.  It required everything.  Mind, coordination, concentration, memorization, fitness…

People formed a loose circle once again.  Fence girl stood a little back and away.

With hand signals, Wink pointed at herself, then slowly went clockwise around the group, pointing at each person in turn.

Gabe nodded.  People nodded.  Even the sobbing woman with the two kids behind her.  Gabe felt Tattoos’s hand pat his shoulder.

He’d never thought he’d be so gratified to get that kind of support from someone so different from him.

Wink turned her face skyward.  To her right, her injured hand was shaking so badly it was twitching, almost closing into a fist.  Her left hand did something similar.

Her nervousness was contagious, everyone’s was.

She took a deep breath.

Gabriel found himself doing the same.

Her voice was high and sweet, the words drawn out, the notes perfect. “A song for your supper.”

Small hairs on Gabriel’s arms and neck stood on end.

“A morsel for a melody,” Tattoos sung.

“A ballad for your board,” Gabe sung.  He was pretty proud of his singing voice, even if the lyrics of the ritual song were simple.

“A chorus for your collation,” the sobbing woman’s voice was broken with emotion.

“A tune for your tuck,” the Beard Guy had a deep voice.

“A refrain for your refreshment,” Fence girl sung.

“A piece for the potluck,” Big Coat rejoined.

Repeat, Gabe thought, his heart pounding.  Do not forget the damn words.

“A song for your supper,” the muscular teenage guy who might have been First Nations sang.

They all sang together.  “A morsel for a melody.  A ballad for your board.  A chorus for your collation…”

At the one part of the fence they’d left undone, there was a snort.

“…A tune for your tuck…”

A bull with short, glossy brown hair entered through a gap in the fence.  The girl they’d given the fence role to gave it a wide berth, still singing, and closed up the netting behind it.

“A refrain for your refreshment…”

Tattoos put his hands to his head, the fear and stress apparent on his expression.

A bull was bad.  From some of the examples on the site, it was not one of the worst possibilities.

It was still bad.

“A piece for the potluck.”

He’d thought the little variations would be the snarl here.  The difference between ‘a melody’ and ‘the potluck’.

“A song for your supper,” they sang, all together.  Tattoos kept moving his lips, swearing without actually forming the words as the bull passed by him.

But the bull was huge.  Probably not unusually large for a bull, but its shoulder came up to almost where Gabe’s chin was, and it seemed like it had more muscle than twenty Gabriels might.  He could see the muscles moving beneath the short hair, which was already damp with sweat.  The horns were off-white, and a good foot and a half long.

Wink put her hand up.  She sang, voice high, “If the tune is merry enough, will the dish be sweet?”

Fence ignited the gasoline, creating a fire barrier, then jogged over to the next patch.

Gabe almost jumped in with the next line, but the hand she’d raised had dropped, and she was indicating the Beard Guy.  Part of her job as leader.

“If the song is jolly enough,” the Beard Guy sung, voice deep, “will the plate be neat?”

The Deer was avoiding kids, who seemed intent on the hockey stick.  The Cat, meanwhile, was crouched low, her dark cloak partially extended around the woman who had been sobbing, hiding her.  They conversed quietly.

The voice in the background was distracting, threatening to throw Gabe off his rhythm.  He had no idea how the woman could sing, listen, answer, and nod without messing up, especially with the bull so close.

The muscular guy sang, “And if the ballad is lively enough, can we hope for meat?”

That’s the starting gun.

The bull had just reached the center of their little circle.  It reared, snorting, and charged Tattoo.  Flame roared as Fence girl ignited another patch of gas.  Gabe gasped, almost saying something.

“A song for my supper!” they sang together.  Next verse.

It heaved its bulk around, charging for a gap in their lines.  The website had said they should cluster, trying to get that initial, crucial bit of damage in.  Not so easy, here.

Big Coat started forward, hesitating as the horns swept in her general direction.  She jabbed out, scraping with fingernails for the bull’s eye.  Missed.

It shifted position, jerking sideways, and bowled her over.

There was a sharp whistle to Gabe’s right.  He turned his head, only to hear that heart-stopping series of feet slapping against road.  Wink had been trying to signal him.

His line- he was stuck for a half-second, and he was already late.

The children latched onto him, fingers grabbing at his belt and pulling his pants partway down, while teeth sank into his hip.  The pain froze the air in his throat, and she bit again- a third time.

“How shall we cut it,” he sang, his voice strangled.  The child released him. He hiked up his pants again, his leg twitching in reaction to the damage further up.  “If we have no knife?”

“With our teeth, and with our nails,” Fence sang.  She ignited the last patch of gasoline.  The fox-faced girl and her gun-toting guardian had stepped inside the fence, and the fire was to their backs.

“Digging in, and singing out!” the muscular guy sang.  He was trying to get close to the bull, but it was rearing around, its back to a corner, horns sweeping, looking for the most likely threat.

Gabe joined his voice to the others, his voice strangled, as they all sung, “How glad we are to dine!”

He was anything but ‘glad’.

They weren’t doing enough.  The bull was practically untouched, and the ritual was not that long.

“A song for my supper!” they sang together.

Gabe tried to stand, and the damage to his side made it too hard.  He dropped to all fours, landing with his hands on the ground, and the pain at his elbow nearly made his arm give out.

“I’ll come to the table,” the woman without feet sang, her face tear-streaked.  “Every phase this moon.”

“And ne’er again find myself picking-!” Tattoos sung, as he tried to duck under the horns while the bull was distracted.

The bull hit him with head, not horn.  Tattoos stumbled back, and the bull followed up, hopping forward, head dipping sharply down, then up.  The horn-tip sank into Tattoo’s chest.

Gabe was stunned, seeing the man die so very easily.  The horn came free with a wet sound.

“-up a spoon!” Wink finished the line, her voice strangled, expression twisting.  She indicated Gabe again.

“Nor fork, nor blade!” he sang, his voice hollow.

“Nor plate, nor cup!” Fence sang.

Gabe was supposed to fill in the gaps.  He managed to get to a standing position.  The girl with the heavy coat had thrown herself at the bull’s neck, so the horns were beneath her and point out to her side, and it was strong enough to lift her up so her feet weren’t touching the ground.  She grunted, scrabbling to try to get her fingernails past the short fur while keeping her grip.

“Oh I’ll have stayed fully supped,” the Beard Guy sung, “and sated since this tune.”

The bull was trying to lift its head with the girl’s full weight resting on its head.  It reared up a bit, trying to dislodge her, and she slipped, her body sliding along the horns.  In another move like that, she’d have her full weight on the horn-points.  He wasn’t sure if the coat was tough enough to withstand that kind of force.

Gabe stumbled forward, his one leg weak, and he knew he didn’t have it in him to jump up.

“A song for your supper!” they all sang, Gabe’s voice a grunt.

The girl on the bull’s neck hadn’t sung, she was so busy trying to stay in place.  Children leaped down from one of the nearby rooftops, landed on her back with a two impacts that made her slide down the horns, and bit into her.

“I shall not miss a single beat,” the woman who was with the Cat sung.  “Or else I’ll offer tonight’s treat.”

“I shall not miss a single word,” the muscular guy sang, as he closed in.  He and Gabe each approached the bull from one side.  “Or else I’ll be the one who’s served.”

Gabe tried to grab one of the bull’s forelegs.  The bull reacted to the muscular guy doing something similar, and pulled back, out of Gabe’s reach.  Gabe collapsed onto all fours, right in front of the beast.  Partially blind, head weighed down, the bull’s head was down near Gabe.

He jabbed at its eye, hard, and it snorted, making a pained sound.

They don’t think the animals are real, he told himself.

“And we’ll tell you,” Wink sung, “that on these nights.  Oh, we shan’t fail to take a bite.”

“To you alone,” the Beard Guy sung, voice low, “I’ll share this…”

The guy grabbed some of the fencing, and started to drag it around, clearly intent on wrapping up the bull.  Children closed in, snarling, teeth bared, and he abandoned the idea.

“If a single meal I miss…”

Threatened, the beast backed away, got close to the smouldering fire from the gas, and reversed direction, charging forward.  Gabe, halfway to his feet, did his best to meet the bull, throwing himself at its leg.

“Then I shall be but skin and bone…”

There wasn’t enough time.

“…And I will be a mess,” the Beard Guy finished.

He was supposed to sing, Gabe realized, at the moment of impact.  The bull was huge, and he imagined the impact was like being hit by a car as it pulled out of a parking space.

Gabe grunted, heard the others singing in unison, while he didn’t have the air in his lungs to join them.  If it hadn’t been for the magazines he’d wrapped around himself, he might have cracked ribs.

“Oh, this shall be a mess!”

He didn’t hear the children coming, between the sound of the big-coat girl’s cries -she’d missed words too- or the snorting and huffing of the bull.  Children were already on top of her.  His voice was late.  “-Be a mess!”

He felt hands grip his leg.  Teeth bit through his shoe and into his foot.  Pain made his leg buck, and the kick tore what the teeth hadn’t fully bitten through.

Missed a damn beat, Gabe, he thought, as horror ran through him.

How was he supposed to get through the rest of tonight and seven more nights like it with only part of a foot?

“Oh god,” the Deer said, somewhere behind him.  “They all need to eat it.”

He barely had the breath to do this, let alone sing.  He held onto the bull’s leg, trying to limit its movements.  Blood pouring from his foot made traction hard. He twisted, desperate strength driving him and giving him the strength to put his shoulder in its armpit, his leg by its leg.  The coat girl was still holding onto its head, and the muscular guy was at the others  side, doing something.

It stumbled, hoof not meeting the ground flat,  and dropped to one knee with an audible crack.  For a moment, he thought it would fall on top of him.

“A song for your supper!”

“A ditty for some din!”  The voice was close.  Someone grabbed him, pulling him away.  Wink.  She jumped to helping the girl who had been bitten a dozen times, who still gripped the horns and neck.

Now that he was further away, he could see that the muscular guy had grabbed on at the other side, and had bitten deep into the bull’s neck.

Others piled on.  Wink, the Fence girl, the guy with the beard.

“By when?  How long?” the fox-faced girl asked, her voice overlapping with the muscular guy singing, his face pulled away from the wound, bloody, almost gurgling as he tried to get the words out with his mouth full , “A crooning for some chow.”

Gabe tried to block its legs from kicking anyone, wedging himself between body and the knee.  He waiting for his chance to eat.

“How long do these guys have!?” the Fox raised her voice.  “Some of these people aren’t in a position to eat!”

He gave her a head-shake.

Not long.  They were about two-thirds of the way through.  He sang, “A helping for a hymn.”

“A song for your supper!” Wink sang, before tearing in as best she could, fingernails and teeth trying to sever a bit of raw meat.  Once she had it, she rolled over, her weight still on the bull’s neck.  Fence girl pushed past Gabriel to get at the wound.

“A morsel for your melody!”

In the chaos, he could barely tell who was singing.

The bull lurched, throwing some of them off.  Fence girl slipped.  The bull, lurching forward, managed to kick Fence girl, and caught her in the side of the face.  She fell against Gabriel, more like a doll than a person.

These are the closing verses.

Gabriel looked at the woman who had been sobbing.  She looked more at peace than she had been, at least this close to the end.  She nodded, in response to a question from the cat.

“A ballad for your board!”

Gabriel felt a flutter of panic in his chest.

The rush that gripped him let him put his weight on his injured foot, even if it didn’t function as well as it should, mechanically.  He hobbled forward, his pants leg soaked from hip to ankle with blood from the earlier wound.

“A chorus for your collation!” he sang, voice raw.

The bull, head low, horns level with Gabe, was in just as bad a shape as he was, one leg twisted with hoof held up off the ground, blood pouring from a neck wound.

He thought of the prize.  Simple, multifaceted.

If someone with the prize wanted food, it was easy to get.  Winning products for life, restaurant owners offering them food free of charge.

“A tune for your tuck!”

If a winner didn’t want food, they didn’t have to eat.  Gabe had paid particular attention to one woman who modeled, with a body that didn’t move from her ideal whether she ate nothing at all, or glutted herself.  It became impossible to starve.  The body disconnected in every respect from what it took in.

Addicts found their ‘sustenance’ freely available and didn’t ever have to worry about overdose.

“A refrain for your refreshment!”

Put at its most basic, never needing to worry about what one took into their bodies ever again.

It would be, he knew, one less thing for him to worry about.  One less futile struggle.

Making one thing easy in life, in a way that other things followed.  Of the five winners he’d read about, all had gotten money.  Inheritances from long lost relatives, payouts from class action suits, other things.  Two of the five had figured out how to keep the money coming.  So long as they spent it on indulgences, particularly food, they kept getting more.

He headed for the bull, hobbling.

He looked back, seeing if he had help.  There was only the Deer girl, her dark blue cape fluttering behind her.  In response to a shout, she twisted in the air, and caught a flying object, wincing as she caught it.  Another object hit the ground to her right, and she scooped it up as she ran past.

She didn’t have the hockey stick anymore.  She brushed her hand along her cloak, and it straightened, going flat and hard.

“A piece for your potluck!”

Children mobbed her.  They dropped off the roof, darted out from across the street.  She leaped forward in sharp horizontal bounds, clearing ten or more feet at a time before her feet touched the ground.  The children were faster.

Gunfire ripped out.  The man with the gun.  He picked off the kids as they got closer to the deer-faced girl.  A few of them managed to get their fingers on her cloak, tugging and breaking her momentum, just in time for her to be in the bull’s reach.

A flash, brilliant, shone out from behind Gabe.  He saw the bull react, its good eye closing, head twisting away.

A gunshot hit a kid in Gabe’s way.  He looked back to see the Fox holding a gun.

Bullets were still flying and hitting children within arm’s reach of the Deer, the noise of it so loud it rattled Gabriel’s brain in his skull, the Deer met the bull’s horns with the edge of her rigid cape, and the edge of the cape bit into the horn, embedding there.  It didn’t really stop the bull so much as it gave her something to hold onto that was between her and it, so its forward thrust pushed her back instead of impaling her.  Twisting, she reached out, grabbed, and tore off a tatter of flesh at the neck.

He ducked under, and grabbed his own bit, stumbling and falling.  Children around him were getting to their feet.  They’d been shot, but only the impact of the bullets seemed to matter.  They hadn’t died or even been appreciably hurt.

He looked up to see the Deer standing over him, using the edge of her rigid cape to cut her bit of meat in half.  Seeing he already had some, she turned and dashed away.

“A song for your supper!”

The words were drawn out more than ever before.  To buy time.  Him and the sobbing woman and… who else?  Had the girl with the big coat eaten?

He gulped down the bloody rag, practically inhaling it in his desperation.  He almost choked.

The bull had no fight in it.  It huffed and snorted as he walked back to the main group, but it didn’t charge him.  Blood continued to pour from its neck wound, running down its neck to its leg.

The girl with the big coat sat against a wall, bleeding a pool of blood that expanded beneath her, but she had blood around her mouth, which suggested she’d had something.  It didn’t look like the horns had gotten her, but the kids had.

The fence girl lay face-down on the road.  Wink stood over Tattoos, who had a hole through his chest.

“Come moons eight, I’ll be surfeit,” Wink sang, emotion thick in her voice.

The Deer girl leaped, and her forward bound was uneven.  She fell, rolling hard.

He followed, hobbling, one eye on the bull.  People standing near the Deer girl didn’t offer a hand.

Have to let the dead weight go, Gabe thought.  It felt wrong.  The girl who’d been crying and talking to the Cat didn’t even have feet at this point.  How could she help, next moon?

He skirted around rather than get involved.

I have to do this for seven more nights?

The children mobbed the Deer, clutching at her cape.  The Fox and the man with the heavy gun opened fire, shooting to try to get rid of them, or keep them from getting that far.

“Full even when I’m emp-ty,” the Beard Guy sung.

“Take the ring off!” the Fox called out.

The children backed off, stepping away.  The Deer got to her feet and started running again, her cape no longer rigid.  She didn’t bound or leap.

The Deer reached the woman who had been sobbing.  She gave her a scrap of meat that was visibly covered in hair, even on the meaty side.  The woman gobbled it down.

“Don’t growl at us,” the Fox told the children nearest her, drowning out some of the final verse.  “Teeth, nails, and diplomacy are fair game.  She used diplomacy.”

The woman on the ground gagged, trying to choke it down.

Hairy meat…

Gabe, shaky, hurting, his guard entirely down, gagged sympathetically.  The taste of the raw meat he’d consumed was rich in his mouth.

He gagged again, and it became more than a gag.  His meal slipped out of his mouth, splattering onto the ground, amid tea and cookies.

Eyes fell on him.  People stayed where they were.

Nobody helped.

He dropped to his hands and knees with a force that might have broken something in his wrist if he wasn’t wearing the guards.  At the same time, his accumulated bite wounds made him sprawl when he’d meant to crawl.

People were more fixated on themselves, grimacing and wincing as their arms smoked, new circles burning their way into their flesh, to mark their night’s success.

He scraped with fingernails, digging into the road, trying to find the meat amid his own puke.

The girl with the deer’s face and antlers ran toward him, her hand cupped.  She still had something.  Even a morsel would do.

He could hear his group singing, like they were very far away.  The last words of the ritual song, inaudible.  They’d drawn it out as much as they could, but they’d reached the end.

With tears in his eyes blurring his view, he knew he didn’t have the time.  He mashed his face into his own vomit, sucking, trying to consume what he needed.  He gagged.

As the Deer girl ran toward him, she had ended up somewhere that wasn’t where he ended up.  It was like she had faded away.

No mark surfaced on his arm.

Beneath a flickering moon, Tattoos and the Fence girl screamed.  They’d been dead, he was almost positive, and now they weren’t.  Children fought one another for the chance to claw and bite at them.  Flesh came away like meat from the tenderest rack of smoked ribs.

The others.  The Deer, the Fox, the Cat, the other participants, they were gone.  The bull was there, but it was turning to smoke.

The song was picked up more than a hundred children who weren’t close enough to grab a meal.  More than a hundred small voices.

“Come moons eight, they’ll be surfeit.”

A narrow, small arm that was covered in what might have been temporary tattoos was pulled from the meaty mess, pushed aside in the mob’s haste to get to the rest of their meal.  Food was swiped away where it dangled from chins, stolen from hands on the way to mouths, dozens of children fighting for an opportunity to eat something.

“Full even when they’re emp-ty.”

Children saw him, and they made their approach.

“Or else I’ll be…” he joined his voice to theirs as they sang, though they said ‘they’ll be‘ instead.

The first children reached him, grabbing him.  He fought back, pushing them away.  A losing battle against hundreds.  He couldn’t sing as he struggled, only listen.

He knew the words.

“…forever a waif, barred from the horn of plen-ty.”

Lucy

“I don’t know what to say,” Lucy admitted.

They’d walked out to Heros, the sub shop at the north end of town.  Their allotted time for lunch wasn’t that much, and the lineups at the various fast food places got long, so they’d had to walk at a good clip.  Now they walked a little more leisurely.  Lucy had finished her sandwich but felt queasy.  Avery had only eaten half, before stuffing the rest in her bag.  Verona had just gotten the smallest size of poutine with chicken, even though the poutine at Heros wasn’t that good.

The conversation on the way had been casual, intermittent, mostly focused on the events of school and the morning, with a pointed avoidance of any mention of practice or Others.  At first, at least for Lucy, it had been because they were surrounded by a mob of students, then in the middle of a line.

Now, on the way back, on a grey sidewalk, by a slope of grass that was grey with gravel and the winter’s run-off from the road, beneath a blue sky that didn’t seem to fit everything else, they had a bit more elbow room.

“I don’t know what to say either,” Avery said, looking back to make sure nobody was in earshot.  “I’ve been feeling so lame, trying to figure out what to say to break the silence.”

Lucy shook her head.  Her hair swung left to right, moving out of sync with the rest of her head.  “It’s not just you.”

“I’ve been thinking about what we need to study next,” Verona said.

“Really?” Lucy asked.  “Really?”

“And about the other stuff,” Verona added, looking over to the side of the road.  “Last night stuff.”

“I would have been seriously worried if you didn’t care about what happened,” Lucy told her friend.  “Seriously.  It’s normal to be freaked out by um, stuff.”

“Yeah, but-”

“People dying,” Lucy added, as an addendum.  “And what happened to Gabe.”

“We don’t know for sure what happened to Gabe,” Avery said, quiet.  “It was like a cloud was blocking the sun, and then it moved on, and it took everything crazy with it.  It took Gabe with it, along with the bodies.  It took the others.”

“It’s freaky,” Lucy said, and she tried for a quieter, whispery tone, and only achieved a creaky hitch, like her voice had cracked.  She cleared her throat and stuffed her hands into her sweatshirt pockets.  Nobody drew any attention to it.

“He looked scared,” Avery said.  “He’s not on our phone app, he’s not in our class.  His friends from the younger class were hanging out and playing and laughing, and it’s like they don’t know or care.  What do his parents think happened?  Is he dead?  Does he just die, but not get a tombstone or memories?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy responded.  She had a bit of a lump in her throat.  From the moment she’d broken the silence, she’d known that bringing this stuff up would be hard.  “All I know is that he’s an idiot.”

“I think we’re the only people who remember him being in our class,” Avery said.  “If we’re the ones keeping his memory, I don’t want that memory to be just that he’s an idiot.  That’s callous.”

“Maybe I’m a bit callous, hm?” Lucy asked.  Her throat was tight.  “Look, he messed up right at the finish line-”

“If I’d been faster-”

“You were plenty fast,” Verona added.  She’d fallen quiet during the last exchange.

Avery had walked a bit ahead, agitated and focused on what was going on in her head, rather than keeping pace with the group.  She turned around, walking backwards.  “But if I’d gotten the meat I was holding to him, or given him the chunk before going to the woman on the ground, he could have made it.  If he just held onto it and didn’t eat it.”

“And if you delayed,” Lucy said, “The woman on the ground might not have made it.  Or other small things might have gone wrong.  The bull might have hit you and then you would be hurt or dead.  Don’t blame yourself.”

“But-”

“No,” Lucy said, her voice harder.  “Stop.”

When Avery’s expression changed into something that might have been offense, might have been her on the verge of tears, Lucy took a quick step forward, grabbing Avery by the shoulder.  The two of them stopped.  She cast a quick glance back.  The nearest students behind them were about six boys from a year younger, who wouldn’t be close enough to hear much.

“You did so well,” Lucy said, her eyes locked to Avery’s.  When Avery looked down and away, Lucy jabbed Avery’s chin with the thumb of the hand on her shoulder to get her to look back up.  “You were the one who jumped up to help first.  And I’m on board.  I’m glad we did.”

“Yep,” Verona said, off to the side.  “Me too.”

“For that key minute there, you were the bravest and coolest I’ve ever seen anyone be,” Lucy said.  “You don’t get to be that awesome and then blame yourself, because if you do, I’m going to feel worse.”

The boys from behind them had caught up.  Lucy could hear them chattering.  Lucy and Avery moved to the side to let the herd by.

“Why would you feel worse?” Avery asked.

“Because I hung back.  You were in the middle of it and you did more.”

“It’s like a hockey game,” Avery said.  “You can only really go for it if you can trust your team to be where they’re supposed to be, doing what they’re supposed to be doing.  We agreed on roles, in case it got messy.”

“I know, but you were doing more.  If you’re doing twice as much as me and still kicking yourself for not doing enough, then what am I supposed to do?”

Again, that little bit of emotion.  She cleared her throat again.

Avery pulled her shoulder free of Lucy’s hand.  “So I’m not allowed to feel bad?”

“Feel how you want to feel.  But if you’re going to kick yourself, get twice as mad at me, first.”

Verona stepped closer, almost losing her balance, because she’d stopped abruptly and they were walking on a slight slope.  “And five times as mad at me.  I didn’t do much more than crouch there interrogating the lady.  I used the one card.  I would have used another but I didn’t want to set you on fire while trying to get those kids off you.”

“Thank you for not setting me on fire, you’re fine,” Avery said, to Verona.  To Lucy, she said, “I’m not mad at you.  Either of you.  I’m not going to blame you, I’m not going to get mad.”

“Then don’t blame yourself, either.”

“I’m not going to not blame myself!” Avery raised her voice.  She blinked a few times in quick succession. She took a deep breath.

Lucy opened her mouth to say something, but Avery threw up a hand, fast enough Lucy thought she was about to get slapped.  It was just a sign to stop.  Avery huffed.

Lucy stopped, waiting and watching while Avery took another breath, steadying herself.

Avery’s voice was overly level, her words measured out.  “Look, I don’t like getting mad.  I get disappointed and hurt, maybe, when someone’s got a job and they don’t do it, like a teacher not caring enough to be a good teacher, or a person on my team who stops trying or quits on us.  But there aren’t levers you can pull to change other people or other people’s feelings.  It’s hard enough to change ourselves and our own feelings, and sometimes it’s not even possible.  I’d rather focus on being better and doing better.”

“Okay,’ Lucy said.  She took in a breath, measured, like Avery had done.  Avery’s hand was still up there, in that ‘stop’ gesture.  Lucy reached up to Avery’s wrist and pushed the hand down.

“Okay?” Avery asked.

“I just want to say one thing before we drop this,” Lucy told her.  “I used to be a lot like you.”

“What?” Avery asked.

“Kinda,” Verona chimed in.  “Until Lucy was like, ten.”

“If feels like you’re calling me a kid.”

Lucy shook her head.  “No.  Listen, people would do crappy things and be crappy to me, and to people I care about, and my first thought would be, what did I do wrong?  What should I have done?  What did I do to deserve this?”

“Sure,” Avery said, her voice terse.

“I was so confused sometimes.  What, what, what?  Why, why?” Lucy’s voice felt hollow, too airy.  “There were so many times people were awful or things went wrong, and I never learned the reasons why.  Was it because I was a girl?  Was it the look on my face?  Was it the color of my skin?  Did I not have the right friends?  Was I not strong enough?  And I had to wrestle with it.  I’d… I don’t even know how to put it.  I’d go easy on them while giving myself the hardest time on all of those things, like they were all true and all my fault.  I gave them the benefit of a doubt, and I wore that blame.  Until I hit the point where I had to change up how I looked at it or I would have lost it.  Okay?”

Avery didn’t answer.

Most of the kids were coming from the Burger Bin, filing down the sidewalk on the other side of the street.  Others were on bikes.  The students who were around them now looked like they were the last of the stragglers.

There was a good chance they were going to be late to class.  Maybe if they ran, but…

This mattered more.

Lucy went on, “Sometimes life sucks, Ave.  Sometimes people or situations… or fucking singing rituals… are ugly.  Too ugly to think about for too long.  You say there aren’t any levers to pull or anything to change them, but… no.  Not in literal reality but you can get angry, you can make them change.  You should deal with them, or make life harder for them, so they’re a little weaker or more hesitant the next time they want to ruin someone’s day.”

“I’m not sure I like the implication,” Avery said.  “Like I’m some baby version of you and I’m supposed to grow up to be you.  I think you’re great, but I don’t want to become you, not like that.”

Frustration welled in Lucy, with just a bit of hurt.  That wasn’t what she was trying…

She let it go.  Deep breath.  She clenched her fists in her sweatshirt pockets.  “Sorry.  That wasn’t what I was trying to say.”

“If I need to feel bad about what happened, can’t you just let me?”

“I just… I don’t want to let you, any more than I want the me of back then to feel bad when she shouldn’t.  That doesn’t mean I think you’re a baby.  You might be the coolest person I know.  You’re kind, you’re brave.  I said that before.  But I admire you.  I’m glad to count you among my best friends.”

“Seconded,” Verona said.

Avery’s eyes were moist.  She still looked upset, and some of that was aimed at Lucy.  “Thanks.  But-”

“But!” Lucy interrupted.  “Feel what you need to feel.  Deal how you need to deal.  If you need anything, I’m here.  We’re here.  We’ll try to help.”

“Yeah,” Verona said.

Avery seemed to waver, like there was more she wanted to say.  Then she nodded.  “Alright.  Thanks.”

Lucy swallowed hard and nodded.

“We should get walking again,” Verona said.

The last of the kids who had gone to the stores for lunch had already passed them.

They started walking.

The mood was a bit uncomfortable.  Lucy felt like starting up the discussion again, trying to smooth over wrinkles and clarify misunderstandings, but she felt like it would make things worse.

“You’ve been pretty quiet, Ronnie,” she said.

“Processing.  Digesting.”

“Yeah?  I figured.”

Verona stared off into the distance.  “The same ideas keep running through my head, like if I think the same thought enough times maybe I’ll get desensitized to it and it won’t be as hard to deal with.  Mostly all it’s doing is giving me this lump in my throat that’s been there since last night, and I feel like I don’t have any patience for school.”

“We can’t not go.  We’ll get in trouble.”

“I know.  It’s just… I dunno.  I’d get into it more, but I don’t like dwelling on stuff or dumping on you guys.  It’s more helpful to hear you two debate it.  Kinda feel bad, hearing you guys talk about who did how much, and I didn’t do much.”

“You got info?” Lucy asked.

“I did.  I couldn’t record it on my phone, but I took notes.”

“It’s why we were there.  It’s good,” Lucy said.  “Don’t feel bad.  If it gives us the answers we need, it might end up being the most important contribution.”

“Okay.  That makes me feel better.”

“That flash of light was you?” Avery asked.  “Back when I was near the bull?”

Verona nodded.

“It helped a lot.  There was a heart-stopping moment where I thought I’d get the horns.”

“Good,” Verona said.  “I’m glad.”

Lucy had the sense that Avery might have liked to talk more or hear more in response from Verona, but didn’t really know Verona.  This was pretty usual, and it was kind of comforting.  It had taken her a little while to figure out that Verona was someone who dwelt on things.  Just because she was quiet didn’t mean she didn’t care, or that she wasn’t going through a tough time.

The flip side of that, though, was that Verona could sit with something for a while and then come right out of left field with a surprise hug… or shutting down, or doing something dumb.

It had been a while since the last time, Lucy realized.  When?

The last dumb was after her parents’ divorce.  Verona had tried to set fire to a family album.

The last shutdown was… march break last year?

March Break.  Verona’s mom had taken her to Vancouver to see distant family over the break.  Lucy had gone over a few days after her friend was back, and arrived to find one of Verona’s shelves of art supplies and finished art pieces on the floor.  Clay models and stuff broken, cast down in way that made it look like they’d been swept from the shelf in a single motion.

Apparently, and she hadn’t wanted to poke too hard or ask, Mr. Hayward’s birthday was mid-March, and she’d come back toward the last third of the month.  Verona had lost track of the days and hadn’t called or anything on the day of, and hadn’t come back with a present.  Mr. Hayward had taken it badly, the same night Verona had gotten back.

In the end, that day she’d stopped waiting for Verona to call, had called herself and gone over, it had been lying there for three days.  Verona had salvaged the things that hadn’t broken, torn, or been stained by ink or paint, and left even the things that were barely affected or damaged.  Then for three days, she had walked on or kicked around the bits that weren’t, including sharp bits of clay.  To make a point, or because she couldn’t bear to throw it out or put it back in a place she could look at it.  Lucy wasn’t sure, and Verona’s head was a puzzle sometimes.

Mr. Hayward had been in the middle of giving Verona the third day of silent treatment, Verona was apparently waiting for him to apologize, and the tension was thick in the air.  So Lucy had had Verona over for a straight week.  Her mom had managed to get the basics of what had happened out of Verona, and had talked to Verona’s dad.

She’d thought things would be okay after that, had gone with Verona back to her dad’s house, and the mess had still been there.  In the end, Lucy had been the one who knelt down to pick up the pieces and clean it up, while Verona sorted out her laundry.  Mr. Hayward had looked in while she was dumping stuff into a trash can, and he’d just commented, ‘She can buy art supplies for herself, but she can’t buy a gift.’

It was, to the best of Lucy’s knowledge, the worst he’d done or been.  She had told Verona to call her right away if there was ever anything like that again, and Verona had promised to.  They hadn’t been forbidden from lying when that promise was made, but she did feel like Verona would keep that promise.  She was also pretty sure that Verona’s dad hadn’t apologized or brought it up since.  Verona would have mentioned it if he had.

Verona hadn’t picked up art or done arty stuff since then, unless it was for school, a side project, or the stuff they were doing with the practice now, like the watercolor pictures she was doing of the local suspects.

This… this Verona felt like she was maybe three-quarters of the way to being where she was then, in that week she’d stayed with Lucy last year.  Like she was lost in thought, quiet, and staring off into the distance a lot.  Lucy didn’t know if she should be relieved that Verona wasn’t worse, considering what they’d seen last night, or worried that Verona wasn’t worse, considering what they’d seen last night.

“Want to stay over?” she asked.

Verona looked over at her and nodded.

“Asking the both of you,” she said.

“Is that okay?” Avery asked.

“I’ve got a cot in my room.  Verona can sleep in my bed, right?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll have to ask my parents,” Avery said.  “It’s a school night.”

“We could beg and plead again,” Verona said.  She had a slight smile.

“I think that only works once,” Avery said.

“We’ll try.”

“Cool,” Avery said.

Lucy was glad Avery didn’t seem as bothered as earlier.  Maybe Avery needed time like Verona did.

They made their way to the school, walking quicker as they got along.  Once they reached the main doors, Lucy hesitated.  At the edge of the parking lot, two teenagers were kissing.

Lucy had her suspicion, as the car was different, but… she used her sight.  The world was cast into sharp contrast, swords and daggers found their homes, embedding in various surfaces, and watercolor stains in blacks, dark browns, greys and reds bled out. Sure enough, the girl in that couple had multiple knives sticking through her, and more swords through her bag, her stuff in the trunk… yeah.

“That’s something that gets to me,” Avery said.  “When my mom has a bad day, my dad runs a bath for her, and fields Declan and Kerry, while telling us older kids to stay out of the way.  He pampers her, they talk, they snuggle.  When you’re a little kid, you can crawl into bed with mom and dad.  But what are we supposed to do?”

Verona hugged Avery from behind.

“That’s just not the same.”

Lucy looked over, and tapped her finger to her lower eyelid.

Verona’s eyes turned purple in a way that caught the light.  Avery’s eyes got misty, literally, in a way that brought out details, rather than hid them.  They looked.

“Oh, it’s her.”

“I’m going to go.  You don’t have to come,” Lucy said.

It was, it turned out, pretty hard to approach.  The couple were making out.  She settled for a seat in the grass by the parking lot, a bit out of sight, her back turned so she was facing three-quarters the other way.

Avery and Verona remained by the door, Verona hugging Avery from behind.

The couple parted ways.  Lucy stood up as the guy jogged over to the side door of the school.

“You,” the teenager with the sunglasses said, as she saw Lucy.  “Peeping?”

“We’ve been trying to follow what’s going on.”

The teenager moved stuff from the back seat into the trunk, using her good hand.  Her movements were more of a limp than they had been two days ago.  “I don’t suppose you know a certain fox, deer and… what was it, cat?”

Lucy nodded, once.

“What’s that all about?”

“Do you really want to know?” Lucy asked.  “With everything else on your plate?”

“Does it help me?”

“I don’t think so.  Answering our questions might,” Lucy said.

The teenager sighed, walking around to the back.  It looked like she’d bought a lot of stuff.

“Collins had his problems, but he was a nice guy,” the teenager said.  She opened a case of something in the trunk and took two soda cans out, before slamming the door.

“Collins?”

“Old school tattoos on his arms?”  She limped on her way to the front seat, leaning over to get inside and put them in the drink holder.

“Yeah.  I remember.  I’m sorry,” Lucy said.

“Second friend I’ve lost.  Every couple of years, it seemed like he’d get a new, life-changing allergy.  Couldn’t eat a crumb of gluten or he’d end up in the hospital or in the bathroom all night, couldn’t eat certain citrus or strawberries, couldn’t eat sugar, couldn’t eat artificial sweeteners.  MSG, eggs, alcohol, I can’t even remember the whole list.  In and out of the hospital so many times he looks like a junkie from the IV insertions.  His body would throw a dart at a dartboard and all of a sudden he’d be having full-blown immune system responses to foods he’d been fine eating for years.  He said if he didn’t do the ritual, he’d eat the wrong thing and die in a few years anyway.”

“But at least he’d be remembered,” Lucy said.

The girl with the sunglasses shrugged.

“Gabe was our classmate.  He disappeared,” Lucy said, looking toward the school.

“New kid?”

“Yeah.”

Behind Lucy, Avery and Verona walked up.

“Mm.  I thought New Kid had it in him to get at least a few rounds in.  The bull was… a good six out of ten on the scale of what you can draw, I think.”

“What’s worse?” Lucy asked.

“I’ve heard about a flock of pheasants inside a barn, with doors closed.  One flew into the one lightbulb in the barn when they were halfway through the song.  For me, first one was a stag.  Third was mice, fourth was a trio of dogs, covered in pustules, foaming at the mouth.  We think how well you sing helps with how the table is set, and we didn’t have good singers that night.  Waifs bit off part of this one guy’s jaw.”

“You skipped the second night,” Avery observed.  She looked nervous.

“A friend of mine,” the girl with the sunglasses said.  “Smart.  Strong.  Clever as dammit.  People on their eighth night get a different song, different rules, letting them bring certain things, and a head start.  The rest of us got a slight alteration.  Instructions to sing until dawn, and… it’s not worth getting into.”

Lucy inhaled, exhaled.  “What happened?”

“I gave him my eye.  No fight.  We thought he needed one eye from one person, meat on the bone from another, a- we were wrong.  When he realized the real requirements, he gave up.”

“You gave him your eye?” Avery asked, horrified.

“I’ve been blind in my left eye since birth,” the teenager said, her voice soft and sad.  “It felt like it was meant to be.  He was like a brother to me.  Got me into the devouring song game, when we thought it was easier than it was.  I wanted my parents to not have to worry about feeding my little brother and I, and this prescription I need to stay level isn’t covered by healthcare after I turn eighteen.  It’s not super expensive, but… when your family is deciding whether to eat or pay the power bill every month, fifty bucks a month is a lot.”

“Damn,” Verona said.  “Fifty bucks every month?  Rough.”

The girl shrugged.

“You could have sold your car, maybe?” Lucy asked.

“Don’t have one.  This is my boyfriend’s,” the teenager said.  “He lent it to me.  I’m just here saying bye to him, then heading to the next arena.  Auld Kirk Scotch.  It’s easier if we go, instead of making them come get us.”

“I want to help,” Avery said.  “I think we want to help?”

Lucy nodded.

“You may have already helped us lots,” the teenager said.  “The girl without feet is on her eighth night.  I don’t know how that’s supposed to go, when she can’t run.”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking of,” Avery said.

“What are you thinking of, then?  Huh?  Are you going to head over there?  Can you drive?” the teenager asked.  “Because it’s a little over eleven hours of driving to get from here to there.  And what are you going to do when you get there?  Are you going to help her, or help us?”

“I don’t know. Can’t we help both?  Or try to unravel it, or… something?”

“If she wins, I can’t,” the teenager said.  “So no, you can’t help both.  Unraveling it?  I don’t even know what you’d do there.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything to do there that we couldn’t do here, Avery,” Lucy said.

“But-”

The teenager slammed her car door, limping around the front to the driver’s side.  “I can’t do this.  I’ve got an eleven hour drive ahead of me, and I want to cover as much ground as I can while it’s light out.  Maybe it’s better if you just stay out of it.  If we’re lucky, it’ll end on its own.”

“I don’t think it will,” Verona said.

“Then… I don’t know,” the teenager said.

“Can we get your number?” Lucy asked.  “If you think of anything.  Things we could follow up on, weirdness…”

“Weirdness that isn’t three kids with animal’s faces showing up in the middle of a ritual?” the teenager asked.

“Yeah,” Lucy said.  “Can’t hurt, can it?”

The teenager, standing by her open door, nodded.  She didn’t come to Lucy, but pulled out her phone as Lucy approached.  They exchanged numbers.

“I’ll send you some links,” the teenager said.  “Sites where we compiled what we know.  Some people were going over site code and trying to track down recurring images in the flyers and on the site.”

“Thanks… Reagan,” Lucy said, reading the name that was attached to the number.

“You’re welcome, Lucille.  Save the links I send you somewhere good, in case you want to go back to them.  Depending on how Friday night goes, there’s a slim chance I won’t be in your contact list anymore, and the message history might be gone.”

“Good tip,” Lucy said.

“Don’t wish me luck back, but… good luck.”

“Yeah,” Lucy said.

The teenager climbed into her boyfriend’s car, and started it up.

“We’re so late for class,” Avery said.

“Yeah,” Lucy said, turning away.  The three of them headed for the doors.

“We might get banned from going out for lunch.”

“Maybe,” Lucy said.

“Last semester, after two kids took too long to come back after lunch, they talked about banning everyone.”

“I think that was to scare them,” Verona said.

“Probably, but a good share of the school were giving them stink-eyes for a while after,” Avery said, as she opened the door.  “Social death.”

“You could’ve just let me handle it,” Lucy said.  “I would’ve recapped.”

“Hey,” Verona said.

“What?” Lucy asked.

“Not feeling so hot.  Can’t see myself with my Sight, so can you do me a favor and check me with the Sight, before we get up there?”

Lucy looked over Verona.  There was a cloud of dark watercolor that grew at her head and flowed through her hair, becoming an almost total darkness at the outermost edges of that hair.  Another bubbling darkness swamp through the stomach area of her grey sweatshirt.

“Stomachache… headache?” Lucy asked.

“Yes and yes.  Am I cursed?  Did interfering last night mess us up?”

Lucy blinked a couple of times.

Blots, not swords.

“I think that’s just you, Ronnie.  Not a curse.  That’s just my guess.”

For Avery, there was a red-black darkness at one side of her stomach, and a pink-red blotting around her shoulders.

“Are you going to be okay?” Lucy asked Verona, keeping one eye on Avery.

“Probably.”

“I think it’s stress and fatigue.  Let me know if I can help.”

“Distract me.  Or help me figure it out.”

“Okay,” Lucy said.  “Figuring it out sounds like a good game plan.”

They finished climbing the stairs, and walked to the classroom.

Ms. Hardy saw them in the doorway, and held up a finger, telling them to wait, while talking to a student.

They loitered, watching and waiting.  Students had pulled desks around to groups of six.

Lucy noted Gabe’s empty seat, not moved or anything.  Just… there.

She wished she’d been able to pep-talk Verona and Avery a bit more.  She wished she could dwell more on the problem.  Sitting through class was going to be hell.

Ms. Hardy approached them, closing the door behind her.  She wasn’t tall, but she had broad shoulders and broad hips.  In her efforts to be charitable to Avery, Lucy supposed Ms. Hardy was heavy but didn’t have a real gut, and instead had the kind of frame and distribution of weight that made her mostly just… big.  Their teacher’s hair was buzzed short on the sides and back, and was in glossy, blue-highlighted curls at the top, draping down to graze one eyebrow.  She liked colorful clothes, with today’s being electric blue slacks, a simple white top, and a colorful, mostly-blue see-through top worn over the white one, left unbuttoned except for the bottom corners, which were knotted near her belly button.  She had a tattoo at her wrist, a circle partially covered by bangles, one at her bicep, really severe red lipstick, and eyeliner that slashed out to either side, with perpetually half-lidded eyes, like she was a bit bored and disdainful of everything.

Try as she might, Lucy couldn’t see what Avery found so appealing.  Maybe that Ms. Hardy paid a lot of attention to her hair, clothes, and makeup, she was a young teacher at… maybe twenty-five to thirty five.  But… nope.  Anything past that point was a guess.

Avery fidgeted, as Mrs. Hardy loomed before them.  Lucy wasn’t even looking straight at Avery, and she could tell her friend’s face was turning pink.

“Verona isn’t feeling well,” Lucy said.

“I saw you in the parking lot,” Mrs. Hardy said.  She looked over each of them, stern.  Avery withered, looking more ready to die than Verona, who might’ve been a bit green around the gills.

“Something messed up happened last night,” Verona said.

Lucy gave her friend a sidelong look.  How was Verona supposed to spin that, without lying?

“Explain that for me, please?” Mrs. Hardy said.

“We were out in the general direction of Swanson,” Verona said.  “We think we saw some people die.”

Ms. Hardy raised her eyebrows.

Direction of Swanson?  Lucy thought, wondering how that was the truth.

Or… well, she supposed Swanson was north.

“There were cars around, we didn’t get a chance to see what really happened before we went a different way, and nobody really gave us any straight answers.  But… pretty sure they’re gone.  It looked really grisly.”

Avery winced at that phrasing, but didn’t say anything.

As Verona had admitted that, she’d looked a little greener around the gills.  To Lucy’s sight, the blot was darkening, getting more concentrated.

“The teenager from the parking lot was there,” Lucy said.  “She said it was a friend of hers.  Verona might be feeling queasy because it’s… a lot.”

“You should go to the nurse’s office.”

“I was thinking about it,” Verona said.  “But if I go and they make me lie down until my dad comes, I’ll just be thinking about stuff.  I’d rather distract myself.”

“Or the guidance counselor’s office?  Mr. Cohn can talk you through it and refer you if you need it.”

“I don’t know about Lucy and Ave, but I’m not so keen on talking about it more, after talking about it all through lunch,” Verona said.

“Yeah,” Lucy said.  “I don’t know what I’d say.”

“It would help.”

“I’d rather not get into it.  We might be talking to someone tonight, depending on what our parents say,” Verona said.

Ms. Hardy sighed.  Her bangles jangled as she folded her arms.  “Can I trust you?  You’ve told fibs to get out of schoolwork or get out of trouble before, Verona.”

“Ms. Hardy,” Avery said.  She fidgeted more, plucking at the bottom edge of her shirt.  “I love your class.  I wouldn’t miss it or be late if I could help it.  What she said is true.”

The door opened.  Brayden was there.

“Can I go to the washroom?” Brayden asked.

“Go,” Ms. Hardy said.  He jogged down the hall.  “And walk!”

Brayden slowed down.

“Ms. Hardy?” Melissa called from one corner of the class.  “We had a question.”

“One second,” Ms. Hardy said, before closing the door.  She sighed, before looking at each of them in turn.  “We’re doing the fake nations project in groups.  Are you able to contribute?”

Each of them nodded.

“The groups already drew their cards, for size, politics, GDP, natural resources, neighbors, and everything else from the pamphlet I gave out yesterday.  Today’s class project is to find nations similar to the one your group got.  The nines have some additional requirements.  Use the stacks of textbooks on the desks, trade with other groups if you need to.  Each person has to write a paragraph about one of the similar nations and what you might expect in the next few weeks of the project.”

She opened the door, letting them into the class.  “Verona, Lucy, join Melissa’s group.  Avery, join Xavier’s.  Take the spare desk.”

Avery stopped in her tracks, then resumed moving, her head a little lower, face not clearly visible with the angle she was traveling, before she took Gabriel’s old desk and dragged it over.

Lucy took a seat by Melissa, opposite George.  Verona took a seat off to her left, putting her bag down and pulling out a pile of papers and narrow notebooks.

“We’re Cocoatoa,” Melissa said.  “Because of our main export.”

“Makes sense,” Lucy said, as she got herself sorted, her attention divided between the materials spread across the desk, Verona, who was holding papers with partial spell diagrams on them, and Avery, who looked pretty depressed.  The pink-red of the watercolor at her shoulders was bright red, now.

Verona laid down papers, each with the partial diagram.  Lucy recognized the interlinked diamonds of the connection symbol, the blockers, the labels.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m-” Verona started talking, at the same time George said.  “We’re going through textbooks-”

“Trying to find similar nations?” Lucy finished.  George smiled and nodded, before handing over two unused textbooks.

“Making sure Ms. Hardy doesn’t check in with our parents,” Verona said, once the dialogue was done, scribbling on paper.

“Hmm,” Lucy made a sound.  She grabbed the papers and slid them over to be in front of her.  “Don’t mess things up for Avery.  Ms. Hardy’s helped her out lots.”

Verona nodded.

Lucy passed the connection breaker back to Verona.  Melissa and George hadn’t even looked up.

She didn’t disapprove.  Verona liked being distracted, and from the looks of it, the act of refocusing were helping to clear away that headache and stomachache.

She’d do her part and alleviate the load, focusing on her current task, searching through the books, and do Verona’s part for the group for Cocoatoa.

She couldn’t do the same for Avery.

◬

The temperature was perfect, the windows open and blowing in a breeze that was on the cold side of cool.  The sky was blue outside, and the loudest sound in the school library was a whisper or a bag being unzipped.

The computers in the school library were in cubicles, each cubicle next to another.  Verona sat at one, Avery at another, and Lucy in between, writing in a notebook as they came across stuff.

They’d searched the site that Reagan had sent them, with guides and tips for memorization, which included easy words to miss, or repeated phrases with slight differences in words.  There were the descriptions of the people with mouths for faces, who didn’t interfere, but also played a role in keeping bystanders from interfering.

There wasn’t a lot that simply watching hadn’t told them.

Verona was looking up famines and hunger in Ontario, especially Kennet.  Not much, but eleven point nine percent of households, apparently, had problems with being able to eat regularly, to the point it caused physical, mental, or social problems.  She’d wondered who would be stupid enough to do this stuff, but that was a big number.  There were people like whatshisname with the tattoos…

She checked her notes.

Collins.

Verona highlighted a bit and nudged Lucy.  In some places in the US, the number rose to thirty percent.

Not really relevant though, but interesting.

Avery was trying search terms with music, singing, hunger, and starvation, plus Ontario.

These things could be done by practitioners or by Incarnations.  Was there actual concentrated Hunger in the shape of a person, or Singing in the shape of a person, assuming that was how that worked?  If there was, then maybe there was one location or one event in Ontario where they were there, and they made stuff weird or affected a whole area with more singing or more problems with access to food.

Lucy noted down some questions about incarnations.  Who would be the person to ask about that?

Miss, maybe.

Finding out where it came from seemed like a good way to figure out how to end it.

It still felt aimless, like they needed another piece of the puzzle.

Miss had said there were threads.  That the Incarnation could make roots in this world by leaving information trails.  They hadn’t really found any.

Just that the locations were ghost towns in Ontario… and Kennet.  There was no clarification or illumination on why Kennet was included.

“Nephton’s one of the locations on the flyer?” Avery whispered.

Verona pulled the flier out and tapped her finger on one of the locations, overlapped with the moon phase.

“Coal town,” Avery whispered.  “Became a ghost town after the coal ran out, people must have gone hungry.”

“Bit of a reach,” Lucy said.  “I think that’s ninety percent of any of these ghost towns.”

“I’m going to print it anyway,” Avery said.  “The article has names.  Maybe one person’s tied to more than one or something.”

“Sure.  Remember that we only get a certain number of printouts per year.”

Avery got out her library card, and began typing in the number.

“Balls Falls,” Verona said, to Lucy.  “Ghost town.”

“I don’t think the Hungry Choir went to Balls Falls.”

“Maybe someone hungry named it.  Hungry for balls?”

“Ha ha.”

“Horncastle.  Sodom.  Happy Valley…” Verona grinned.

“Okay, okay,” Lucy said.  “Ha ha.”

A bit of color in her right eye made her turn her head.

“Avery!”  She swiped at the keyboard, shoving it into Avery’s mouse hand.  The keyboard and mouse clattered off the edge of the drawer beneath the cubicle.  Avery went from looking at Verona’s screen to almost falling out of her chair.

Avery looked up at Lucy, wounded, holding her thumb where Lucy had rammed it with the keyboard, then looked at the screen.  The wounded look became horror.

Her email address and library card number and the boxes for those things were on the screen, plain as anything.

But the background was a dull grey-pink.  The lyrics to the song were scattered around the page, along with images, half of them broken or distorted.

It had changed to the site in the moment Avery had finished typing and gone to click, not quite looking.

“Excuse me, girls?” the school librarian spoke up, as he approached, hands on his hips, looking mock-stern.  Except the guy was actually-stern… just used to dealing with kids.  The expression changed more when he saw the dangling keyboard and mouse.

The site had gone back to the library page.

They were kicked out, gathering up their stuff and abandoning the research.  Avery was careful to backspace her name out of the field, just in case, before they fled, leaving the school and heading directly away, into fields and toward trees.

Avery was visibly shaking.

“Good save,” Verona said.

“I guess… we have to be careful,” Lucy said.  Her heart was pounding, even though it had been maybe five minutes.

“They can’t do that, can they?” Avery asked, her eyes wide.  Her hand rubbed her thumb, which looked red.

“They tried,” Verona said.  “If Avery technically…”

She trailed off.

There was singing.

Lucy pulled the chain that had once had the dog tag on it from her neck.  The ring hung from it.  She slipped it on, the chain dangling.

The first children appeared.  Three, from nearby trees and crawling from clumps of grass.

A girl, black haired, grinding her teeth.  She wore a black sweater and pleated skirt.

A boy, with hair buzzed short, wide eyes, wearing cargo shorts and a torn t-shirt with a frowny-face on it, with temporary tattoos all over his arms and parts of his chest.

And… Gabe.  Or a version of Gabe.

He was shirtless, so skinny his chest looked concave.  His hair was messy, taller on one side than the other, and he wore roller blading stuff, without the roller blades, his pants on the cusp of falling down.  His mouth was ajar, his face smeared with vomit.  His stare was wide-eyed and vacant.

Avery made a small sound.

“Get out of here!” Lucy raised her voice.  “Go on!”

Her voice rang out over the field around them.  It seemed to terminate sooner than it should, with the music coming from the distance.

“You don’t get to do that!” she shouted, more intense, angrier.  “You don’t get to guilt us!  You made your damn choice!”

The three didn’t move.

“Don’t you dare mess with us or try that again!  I promise you, you’re not in our good books right now, but if you push us, we will make it our job to destroy you before you can get us!  The deal we made when awakening lets us!”

The little girl with the black hair ground her teeth, then turned, scampering off with too much speed and agility to be natural.  The others followed.

The music faded.

“What you said before, about slowing others down or hurting them, so they can’t hurt others?” Avery asked.

“Oh yeah,” Lucy said.  Her heart was pounding and she was a bit out of breath from the shouting.  “Oh, for sure yeah.”

“Yeah,” Verona said, quiet.

“We stop them even if they don’t push us further, right?” Avery asked.

“We damn well try,” Lucy said.  “Just gotta figure out how.”

“I might have an idea,” Verona said.  “But it’s not a great idea.  It’s dangerous in its own way.”

Lucy looked at her friend.

“Before I got to my house, I called Miss and asked her about things we could do.”

“You talking a lot to Miss on your own?” Lucy asked.

“Some,” Verona said.  “Why?”

Lucy shook her head.

“If we want an education in loopholes, cheating at games, tricks, and that sort of stuff… maybe we should talk to the Faerie.”

Text- The Victim: Carmine Beast

Who:  The carmine beast.  One of four prominent judge-like Others that oversee Eastern Manitoba & a good chunk of Ontario, where Lords and other powers don’t already have sway.
Manages & influences violent & bloody Others.  By just hanging around & holding the seat, influences the Others who appear & how they act.
Can be a final court of appeals for matters of Other and practitioner?

What: Someone or something violently attacked her.  She was hurt, made her way into Kennet, and disappeared.  Her power/being is still around, but this is blurry; she can’t die, exactly?  Someone or something may have her power/substance and may be able to use it to take her post.

Where: Kennet.  She collapsed near Kennet Arena.  A witness (Louise Bayer) may have more details.

When:  5 weeks ago, C.B. is attacked.
–  Goblins catch wind of this.  Witness & Goblins follow.  Goblins have to stop, turn back.  They split up to find Miss (T.S.), Charles and incidentally Matthew (Munch), Edith (Gash, also expected to find Matthew), and the faerie (Cherry).
–  After people convene at murder/abduction site, they decide to recruit us 3.
– Outside practitioners go looking for C.B.  Miss is tipped off, and we awaken a bit earlier than planned.

Text: Charles Abrams – Ex Practitioner
Forsworn

Capabilities

– Can Lie
– Was a summoner.  Made Others?
– Has materials lying around. What can a forsworn person use?

Means? – Few to none.  Not strong.  See Capabilities, above.

Motive? – Big motives.  Angry & Vulnerable.  Appealed to
the Carmine Beast and was ignored?  Other three
were jerks to him.  Is ‘whipping boy’ for Kennet Others
Possible revenge motive vs. ex-friend, auger.

Opportunity? – No?  Relates to means.
Alibi – Matthew.  Went over to get books.  Timing
suggests Charles was busy when event happened,
Matthew left.  Bluntmunch stayed.

Notes

*  Cared about prisons, politics?

*  Didn’t want us involved.
*  Can/will take curses and stuff.  Took Yalda’s curse.
*  Ongoing dependence.
*  Wanted to summon a watch-dog on the day/night he was forsworn?  Good at heart?
*  Scary/unpleasant vibe

Text: John Stiles
Dog of War / Dog Tag

Capabilities
– Strong
– War Sense?
– Can’t die or be easily bound while the war that created him continues
–  Doesn’t sleep, doesn’t relax.  Vigilant & tactical thinking constantly
– Can appear quickly if summoned

Notes

* Mosaic personality, made up of many soldiers
*  One of twenty that were a group.  16 war, 3 flame, 1 black.
*  Black was Yalda.  A close companion that John had to kill.
*  Routine includes games, early/late walks.  Executes problem Others near Kennet

Means – Doesn’t sound like he is strong enough.
–  Maybe with a big gun?

Motive – The killing of Yalda?
–  Says he doesn’t want the role.  “I’ve served enough.”

Opportunity – Has alibi.  Was out hunting, far from Kennet.
–  Confirm with Miss?

Important – may become the next Carmine, if forced to it.  miss doesn’t think he’d last long before being ousted.

Text: The Hungry Choir
RITUAL INCARNATE (OR LIVING RITUAL)

Capabilities
– Manifests as a kind of storm over Ontario
– Children (“Waifs”) appear as raindrops of this storm, apparently act as eyes?  Face?  Limbs?
– Reaches out to targets in the area, using fliers.  Targets must choose to participate, but are selected from people who really want to?
– Every phase of the moon, creates a variant dimension, similar to our own, in that night’s location.
*  No food, drinkable water (I had to borrow a gun because the soda cans emptied)
*  ‘Witnesses’
*  More active waifs
*  More freedom to enforce rules?
*  Time flows differently.  Website theory – a count of heartbeats?
*  No grass, leaves.

Means – Maybe?  Strongest other we may have seen so far, besides the Sable, Aurum & Alabaster.
–  Isn’t immediately obvious if there is an intelligence behind it.

Motive – Goes back to intelligence
–  Would the waifs attack or eat if they could?
–  Or if someone set it up to happen?
–  It apparently wants to grow & sustain itself, according to miss.
–  Would the beast try to stop the choir as part of its duties?
–  Beast is a big meal.
–  Miss says it wouldn’t want the role of Carmine.

Opportunity – Choir knew or was in the area already, according to T.S.?
–  Hard to pin down, because they occupy/cover a huge area, instead of being within it?

Note – Opening another ‘Investigation notebook’ later, for choir.  Sticking to the C.B. investigation in this book.  If anything happens to us, look for the 2nd book.

 

Verona

Last Thursday: Interview Notes

---

“Miss!”

“Miss!”

“Miss!”

The three of them stood on the bridge that connected the mostly residential western half of Kennet to the messier southeastern quarter.  Cars periodically whizzed by, knocking as they went over the metal bit that was meant to let the bridge expand and contract.  Avery had taken a seat on the wide sidewalk, her back to the railing. Lucy leaned into the railing, looking out in the direction of Kennet, holding onto a small bag of sour cream and onion chips with two fingers.  As the bag got emptier, it blew more precariously in the wind.  The bag had a ‘skin’ over it, so thin it was translucent, and flakes of it were shed in a constant trail, like a dandelion that never ran out of seeds.

Verona leaned against the railing beside her friend, but her back was to the railing, and she looked in the opposite direction, toward the trees, cliffs, and hills south of Kennet.  Somewhere in there was the clearing where they had awoken.  With her Sight casting the sky black high over them, and a film over the trees, the entire city felt like it was set in a vast cave, not the wide outdoors.

They’d stopped by the convenience store, grabbing snacks.  Avery had suggested it, and seeing Avery now, Verona suspected she’d suggested it to just have something to hold onto.  The girl had a two-handed deathgrip on a bottle of soda.

The river below wasn’t that much of a river, with what seemed to be more bank than water, the banks gravelly and grey.  The water frothed as it ran into and over the rocks.  There were times of year where the water level and flow were much higher.  The bridge had streetlights as extensions of the railing, but it had nothing else on it.  Metal had been painted and parts of the paint were flaking like the bag of chips, never really reducing the amount of paint that was left behind, but losing flakes to the wind nonetheless.

Her stomach didn’t hurt as much, but there was still an empty, gnawing feeling in it, somewhere between the sensation of having done too many situps in gym class and having too much acid in her gut after eating too many toaster tarts.  She’d thought at first that it was because the Choir had laid something on them, like a curse.  It wasn’t.  Regular old stress.

The caffeine of her soda helped with the headache that she’d had since lunch, but she felt like the very fact she had a stress headache in the first place was giving her more of a headache.

It made her think of her dad.  He got stress headaches all the time, and if the Hungry Choir wanted to make her miserable, it didn’t need to trick her into playing its game.  Making her more like her dad in even the smallest ways was the way to do it.

“What can I help you with?”  Miss’s voice had a bit of that British crispness to it.

Verona leaned heavily over the bridge’s railing, until Lucy grabbed the waistband of her jeans to keep her from tipping over.

She could see Miss’s hair and skirt, below.  Miss had found a seat on an angled support strut beneath the bridge.

Verona sighed a bit.  Darn.

“We’re interested in going to see the Faerie, to interview them,” Lucy said.

“It may be unavoidable.”

“We’ve gotten a lot of warnings about them,” Avery said, twisting around a bit.

“Many Others warrant warnings,” Miss said.  “The typical goblin or bogeyman are more obvious as threats.”

“You mean you can see them coming?” Lucy asked.

“The tendency, I find, is that you see a Faerie coming, you have an exchange, you see them go, and two years later you discover the exchange contained key mechanisms that allowed someone to engineer your destruction and defeat.”

“Charles told us there were Others who’ve been playing a metaphorical game of chess for a long time,” Verona said.  “That they’re so good we might as well not play.”

“The Faerie may exemplify that concept,” Miss said, from below them.  “I would not be surprised if he was thinking of them specifically.”

“What are we supposed to do, then?” Lucy asked.  “Avoid them forever?”

“What you do is up to you.  I can’t and won’t tell you what to do with the investigation.”

“The Hungry Choir tried to get me,” Avery said.  “Changed a website in the last moments before I would’ve clicked.  If Faerie are good at deals, cheating, and games, is it possible they would have some safeguards or maybe they’d know something that’d help us deal with the Choir?”

“You got involved?” Miss asked.

“Kind of,” Avery said.  “We helped one of the contestants.”

“Then it seems you’re entangled now.  The patterns and precepts that make up the ritual are like the threads within a spider web.  By reaching out, you’ve entangled your hand in the strands, and the spider has only to follow the threads to have its access to you.”

“What do we do?” Lucy asked.

“Distance,” Miss said.  “Step back, move away from the metaphorical web.  The strands of a web should snap or thin out with distance from the origin point, and the spider’s journey from branch to hand becomes longer, if not impossible.  The rules and ideas of the ritual may still cling to you… sightings, tendencies, and traces of the patterns, but with enough distance you shouldn’t get bitten, metaphorically speaking.”

“What-” Lucy started, at the same time Verona asked, “How-”

The two girls exchanged a look.  Lucy made a gesture toward Verona.

“How do you know if you’ve got enough distance that the so-called spider can’t get you?” Verona asked.  “How do you tell if you’re seeing the clinging parts of the ritual instead of the strand that connects to the heart of it, that gives it the ability to get you?”

“I suppose you’d only know for certain if you didn’t end up getting bitten.”

“Great,” Avery said.

“I would be very surprised if it managed to get you while you were moving steadily and constantly away from it.”

“What if we can’t?” Lucy asked.  “As part of the awakening ritual, I said we’d mete out justice.”

“Justice is a tricky thing,” Miss said, from her seat on the bridge’s support struts.  “Keep in mind that the worlds of Others and spirits are old.  The definitions of justice are older.  By old ways, families could be condemned for the actions of an ancestor, hospitality is more important, and one’s place in society and greater structures is far more emphasized.”

“Was I wrong, to tell them I could come after them?”  Lucy asked.

Verona raised her eyebrows.  Lucy wasn’t really the type to spend a lot of time dwelling on whether she was wrong.  Not anymore.

“I couldn’t say with any certainty,” Miss told them.  “I think you’d be fine if your justice was strong and consistent.  I would not hold up modern ideas of rights, wrongs, or the individual, then turn around and cite the old ways.  That is liable to backfire.”

“The old ways seem kind of ass to me,” Lucy observed.

“Agreed,” Avery said.

“The Faerie may indeed be your best counsel when it comes to matters of words and deals, and what directions you may wish to take.”

“I told them we talked last night,” Verona said.

“Ah.  Yes, as I told Verona when she inquired last night, they should have the experience and instincts that would help find a way to free yourself of the metaphorical spider’s web that clings to your hand now.”

“What do we need to know?” Lucy asked.

“That they are a set of metaphorical spider webs of their own, far greater, far more intricate, and you may never know that you’re entangled, or that the so-called spider has you, or that it has already eaten you.”

“Okay,” Lucy said.  “That’s freaky.”

Avery worked her way to a standing position.  She leaned over the railing to look for Miss, then settled down, chin on her hands.  “Out of the frying pan and into the fire?”

“They swore the oath at your awakening, to preserve you and your safety.  There are ways to deal with Faerie.  They are subtle, and the goblin arts are especially good at penetrating subtlety.”

“Poop jokes and slapping them in the faces with condoms,” Lucy said.

“Essentially.  Another way would be to accept it.  This so-called spider has agreed not to eat you.  Appreciate the beauty of the web when you can see it, accept you may find yourself entangled, and avoid the worst casualties.”

Verona leaned back into the railing, her head tilting back until she was looking up at the sky.  “What does this entanglement look like?”

“They like drama.  Different types of drama for different types of Fae.  You may find that events contrive to happen around you, involve you, and sweep you up.  Were you to spend a lifetime investigating such events, you might find the plots trace back to the faerie, only to then find the investigation is yet another expectation and machination.”

“This sounds exhausting,” Lucy said.

“It may be.  Try not to be the main characters of their stories.  Play your part and move on, if you can.”

“Can I ask?” Verona asked.  “This entanglement… is it something you can get snarled up in too?  You said you didn’t want to get involved with the choir for that reason.”

“Less so.”

“What’s the distinction?”

“The Hungry Choir sets the stage, or sets a table, if you prefer that analogy.  For the Faerie, the world is a stage.  My nature and abilities make it easier for me to slip their net and escape into the wider world.”

“And you can’t, what, leave the table once the Hungry Choir has set it?” Lucy asked.

“I suspect I would become a prop, much in the same way the flyers, waifs, and setting details are.  I’d rather not say more on the subject.”

“Hm.” Lucy made a dissatisfied sound.

“What are the worst fates?” Verona asked.  “The big dangers, with Faerie?”

“Too many to name.  Watch your words with special care.  Courtesy is a knife they hand you, with expectation you will take hold of the blade, so you may wish to be impolite or rude, to do away with courtesy altogether.  Take nothing that is not expressly given.  The tales of mortals eating the fruit of a Fae tree and being stuck in their realm are implicitly stories of betrayal.  There are other stories, of mortals eating food so delicious they never want to leave, but the Awakening oath should protect you from such.”

“Glad we talked to you, then,” Avery said.  “I’m nervous now.  Is this going to be worth it?”

“Faerie have a longstanding relationship with humans, in patron-practitioner relationships.  Our approach here in Kennet hews to old ways, when a practitioner would have to seek out an Other, or the Other seek out the practitioner apprentice, and that would be how one would learn the practice.  In time, other ways have taken over.  Particularly family lines with families passing on the practice.”

“Man, that’d be something,” Verona said.  “That’s more of an established pattern, right?”

“And families may have resources, power to hand down, and extensive libraries.”

“That sounds so nice,” Verona said, sighing the words.  “No offense, but not having to go with hand out, begging for that new practice or power…”

“I can imagine,” Miss said.  “In any event, the patron relationship has advantages.  More access to power, where the patron or group of patrons supplies the energy for simple runes, basic practices and so on.  Faerie are fond of this kind of patron relationship, and exaggerate the benefits.  Expect impressive or sundry gifts, a particular kind of power in ample supply, and good counsel when it comes to deals and contracts.”

“That makes me feel better,” Avery said, her chin still on her hands, which were folded on the railing of the bridge.

“…And be on the lookout for subtle traps or mischief hidden amidst those traps,” Miss added.  “Drawbacks are magnified as well.”

Avery sighed.

“All practice has a price, Avery.  In exchange for the security of picking and knowing who will be our local practitioner investigating our affairs, we Others of Kennet pay our tax, small amounts of power from each of us, for wind charms and smoking cloaks.  We don’t begrudge you this.  But there are other kinds of price, such as a powerful gift where the price is the risk involved in using it, or the consequence when the true intent behind a power, trick, or object comes full circle and ruins you.  The Faerie may give you these kinds of powers.”

“Good to know,” Lucy said, quiet.  Avery nodded.

Verona mentally catalogued this information.  She wished she had a recorder, to take it down, but her memory was pretty good.

“They live for drama.  Some may say they live on it.  They’ve sworn deals.  They won’t be able to hurt or kill you, or do more than force a detour from a long and full life, but the timing of these things could easily be devastating.  If you look out for things of this particular stripe and shape, weather the drama as your price, I think you’ll manage.”

“Where do we go?” Lucy asked.

“Southeastern end of Kennet.  Follow the water’s edge and walk south from that arch until the road is out of sight and earshot.  Look for two thin birch trees forming an arch.  Stand in the arch, look for the cave in the rock face, amidst the trees.  Don’t take your eyes off it, or it may slip away.”

“We can’t just follow the rock face?” Lucy asked.

“You can, but I doubt you’d find the cave that way.”

Lucy nodded.

“Anything else?” Miss asked.

“Are we bothering you, calling you to ask you stuff?” Lucy asked.

“No, but right now, there are three outside practitioners who are curious about what happened to the Carmine Beast.  I’ve engineered distractions, to postpone the point in time that someone shows up and comes to ask questions.”

“What’s the worst-case scenario?” Lucy asked.

“I couldn’t say.  Too many possibilities.  But a bad-case scenario with a dim likelihood of happening might be that someone gets it in their head to arrive, declare themselves lord of Kennet, and claim dominion and province over local Others.”

“In which case… what happens?” Avery asked.

“We would lean heavily on you, fight back, and try to destroy them before they bound and enslaved us.  I don’t think this is likely.  More likely, someone arrives despite my distractions, asks, and you three present yourselves as well versed both in the practices and the current situation.”

“Is that so bad?” Lucy asked.

“It gets less bad depending on where you three stand, but word of mouth would get around that something is unusual about Kennet, more practitioners would show up, which would mean more people possibly finding or acquiring us, and that dim chance of a bad case scenario where someone decides to try to co-opt the entire territory by making themselves a Lord would increase over time.”

“Getting a better sense of the big picture,” Lucy said.

“Good,” Miss said.  “For what it’s worth, I’m glad I found you three.  You’re everything I hoped for and more.”

I don’t trust wording like that, Verona thought.  She asked, “Are we going to look back on this and groan, because you hoped for something nefarious?”

“Not at all, don’t worry,” Miss said.  “I should go.  I’ve been encouraging a riddling spirit to taunt civilians, which is the kind of thing an investigating body would want to look at, and agitating an echo of a hunter who talks about wolves and coyotes eating his animals.  It would be ideal if the fleeting spirit and ghost both disappeared before the practitioners got there, forcing them to carefully canvas witnesses while maintaining the innocence of those selfsame witnesses.”

“Oh, Miss!” Lucy called out.  “Before you go?”

“Yes?”

“Could you stop by and tell John we might come by in a few minutes?  So he doesn’t get paranoid?”

“I will.  Goodbye.  Good luck with the Faerie.”

“Bye,” Verona said, joining her voice to the others.

There was no response.

Verona leaned over the railing again.  There was no sign of any hair or cloth.  Gone.

Lucy jerked her head in the direction they were meant to go.  They walked.

“I feel so useless sometimes,” Avery said.  “I don’t know what to say in conversations like that.  You’re on the ball with the investigation, Lucy, and you’re really quick with the practice, Verona.”

“Remember what Miss said?” Verona asked.  “She’s happy she found us three.”

“I don’t actually remember that specific wording, and it hasn’t been that long,” Avery said.  “Which is my point.”

“Come on,” Lucy said, in a bid to get them to move faster.  “You’re frazzled, so I don’t blame you.  After that stunt the Choir pulled?  About the other part of it, I’ve already told you you were awesome last night.  Do I need to repeat it again?  Because I will.”

“Nah,” Avery said.  She managed a weak smile.  “Thanks though.”

“Let’s see if we can get this bit done before dinner,” Lucy said.  “Do you guys mind if we do that thing?  Stop briefly by Stiles’ house?”

“No,” Verona said.  “Actually, I was thinking of going there sometime soon anyway.”

“Why?” Lucy asked.

“Why are you so suspicious of me?  You were asking about me talking to Miss too.”

“Because you’re doing that a lot.”

“Because this whole thing relates to the relationships we’re building with the Others.  They can tell us so much.  Even the practice is the result of a relationship with the ambient spirits.  It’s a waste if we don’t capitalize on that.”

“This way,” Lucy said, pointing down the side street.  “Remember that we’re investigating the locals.  What happens if you have repeated visits and interactions with a local like Miss, and then it turns out she’s the culprit?”

“Then I should have the repeated visits, interactions, and trust built with other local Others to deal with her and whatever she’s pulled.”

“Verona did say she was all-in,” Avery said.

“I just worry,” Lucy said.  “Because I don’t think you can always deal, or escape, or duck the consequences.  I think sometimes you don’t get a chance.  You die, or worse.”

“Like Gabe,” Avery said.

“Yeah, maybe,” Lucy said, sighing.

Verona nodded.

They walked for a few minutes in silence.  Verona tried to imagine the scenarios where Miss would be able to get her that quickly, before she could throw down her dog tag, or use a rune.  Miss could move fast, and they’d joked before about Miss having a spider for a face, or something.

That kind of horror was easier to imagine after seeing the Witnesses and stuff last night.

The burned house where Verona had been held at knifepoint was more or less the same.  They approached and knocked on the door.

There was nothing.

“Damn it, damn it, ugh,” Lucy muttered.

“You want your tag, huh?” Avery asked.

“Nervous,” Verona guessed.

“Nervous,” Lucy said.  She gave Verona a totally undeserved dirty look, for mentioning it.

They could hear guitar.

They walked around the edge of the house, which involved stepping over some cordoned-off bits of burned siding, and around to the back.

John sat on the stairs that led from the back door to the back lawn.  John was smoking, and had a guitar.  He continued playing as they approached.  The three of them remained silent.

Weeds and the flowers and shrubs of a garden that had overgrown and spread out beyond its confines filled the space, and the film was especially thick there, with red things moving in the gaps.  Verona liked the aesthetic.  She wouldn’t like to live in it or walk in it -not if it meant that she’d have three bloodsucking ticks stuck to her legs by the time she made it through the far side- but she liked the wildness of it.  She liked the English style of garden, where it was a kind of intentional mess, with the added bonus of it being easier to maintain.  She’d rather have a mess like this, even with the ticks, than the formal, everything-in-its-place French garden that most houses seemed to go for, and she’d rather have an English garden than this kind of mess.

Not that she’d say anything like that around her dad.  If she did, he’d get gardening stuff and make it a big project for ‘them’.  Which would be her doing the work and him ‘delegating’.  It wouldn’t be an English garden, either.

John had said he wasn’t very good, but he could put the notes together.  It was nice to listen to.  The wind blowing through the backyard, the weather not cold but not hot either, the sound of the instrument in the air, and the world set in a vast underground cave, muted by film.

Then he started singing, and it wasn’t so good.  He didn’t really transition between notes well.

“Mockingbird,” he sung, his eyes closed, a slight smile on his face.  The pauses between each bit felt lengthy.  “You have not… said a word…”

He kept playing, but he stopped singing.  Verona smiled, despite herself, and hoped it didn’t seem at his expense.

“Need anything particular?” he asked, his tone normal.  He continued to play.

“I hope last night qualified as serious enough for a replacement tag,” Lucy said.  “The help was appreciated.”

“Really appreciated,” Avery said.

“Some of them popped up earlier, to give me the stink eye,” John said.  He continued plucking strings with one hand while the other hand pulled off the chain necklace.  With one hand, he removed a tag, then tossed it to Lucy, who caught it.  Rather than put the necklace back on, he draped it over the very end of the guitar, and resumed playing.  “No issues.”

Verona pulled off her bag.

“We had a few,” Avery said.  “Hopefully they relax some.”

“Hopefully,” John said.

Verona fished inside, and found what she was looking for.  She walked on the bricks that lined the garden so she was walking through the grass less, and set an old handheld console on the edge of the stairs.  She put down two games.

“What’s this?” John asked.

“A thank you, for saving Avery, and protecting Lucy.  It’s five years old, you might have to delete some save files, and there’s no cover for the batteries, but it works.”

“I remember those games,” Lucy said.  “I got the handheld and the orangered edition of the game to play and trade with you.”

“I just thought, y’know, if you’re killing time or something,” Verona explained, shrugging.  “And maybe in exchange, don’t hold us hostage with guns and knives anymore?”

“Thank you,” John said, nodding.

“There’s a shooty game and the monster game.  I don’t know which you’d like.”

“We’ll see,” he said.  “Let me know if you need any more help.”

Verona nodded.

Lucy said, “We’re going to go see the Faerie.  I really hope we don’t need any help.  Or you might have to help us deal with Guilherme.”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” John said.  “I’ll do my best if it comes to it.”

“We’re going to try to talk to them before it’s dinnertime, so we’ll have to cut this chat short.”

John nodded.  As the three of them made their exit, Verona walking on the short brick wall that fenced in the garden until she reached the side gate, he resumed singing, switching to another language.  It didn’t sound much better than the last time.

They walked down to the water, and there were some people down there with their dogs, along with some kids picking through the rocks to try to find stuff that they could skip on the water.  Most of the rocks were the shale sort, flat and irregular, closer to pieces of broken glass in dimension and shape than a good round skipping stone, sharper edges and angles smoothed below the point of being dangerous by the passage of water.

They found the birch trees, white, narrow, and growing at angles, where branches grew into one another.  It wasn’t the landmark Verona had imagined it to be.  Verona disabled her Sight and waited a good ten seconds for the imagery to fade away from her eyes, just to see if she was missing something.  She blinked a bit at how blue the sky was, and how green the leaves on branches were.

Avery was the one to see it first, pointing.  At first, Verona thought it was shadows from the trees that grew at the base of the hill and cliffs, but as they walked and approached, the shadows clarified into a depression, which turned out to be a hole, ten feet high and narrow.

“Guilherme!” Lucy called out.  “Maricica!  The practitioner trio of Kennet are here to request counsel and discuss recent events!  We’re announcing ourselves!”

The call was answered with laughter, the voice young, high, and sweet.  The laughter echoed within the cave, and Verona couldn’t help but shiver.  The sound that bounced back didn’t seem to line up in any way with the original sound.  Like singing into a tunnel and getting a hint of a scream back.

Verona turned her Sight back on, and it was so quick to arrive that it felt like it had taken hold the moment before she’d decided to do it.

She saw a silhouette, a man just past the upper bounds of anyone she could remember seeing in terms of height, with a ton of raw muscle.  She touched Avery’s and Lucy’s arms.

“You called his name first.”  The voice was the same as the laughter, coming from the shadows off to the side.  There was just a hint of echo, still just a bit off.

“You’re lesser, Maricica,” the man spoke.  He had a cultured accent and power behind his voice, even though it wasn’t especially deep or loud.  “You hold no meaningful titles, you’re young, you’re of the most detested court.”

Maricica emerged from the shadows, stepping into the light from the cave entrance.

“Woah, oh, okay, naked woman,” Avery said, turning around.

“I am, but I’m also covered up,” Maricica said.

The young woman was wrapped in her own wings, but the wings were a translucent brown, covered in patterns that ranged from reds to yellows to white, many surrounded by darker outlines, with circles or other shapes within.  It was evocative of eyes.  Further patterns traced down the length of the wings, which were longer than Verona remembered seeing back at the Awakening.  It was hard to make out the ‘fingers’ within the pattern.

Back at the awakening, she’d seen those and taken them to be the ‘fingers’ of massive bat wings, but with the patterns, she could see how Avery had taken it to be like moth wings.  They seemed longer now than they had been, the wings trailing on the ground behind Maricica, extending ten or fifteen feet back into darkness thick enough that Verona’s sight couldn’t penetrate it.  Like a trail from a ball gown.

The patterns weren’t as transparent as the rest of the wings.  The faerie covered her breasts and the rest of her body, leaving her shoulders bare, and patterns or folds in the wings covered everything that needed covering.

“I’m-” Maricica started.  She stopped, twisting, her wings unfurling.  She rose up into the air as a wooden spear plunged into the stone where she’d been.

Verona backed away, silent, as Lucy yelped and Avery said something incoherent.

Maricica had moved those wings in a way that didn’t seem right or real.  It was like the material that was so thin that Verona could see nuances in the darkness behind it was also strong enough to lift the Faerie up.

Maricica laughed again, her laughter like tinkling bells and a song.  The echo like a cat’s screeches.

“Welcome to my humble home,” Guilherme said.  “I apologize for the pestilence within.”

“Our humble home,” Maricica said, sing-song, from the darkness.

“You aren’t friends?” Avery asked.

“She arrived from elsewhere to plague me and steal from me, like the lowliest kind of person or beast might.  She has yet to succeed in the stealing.”

“You have yet to succeed in swatting me,” Maricica taunted, before laughing.

“You’re enemies?” Lucy asked.

“A question of courts and houses,” Guilherme said.  “I’m of the Summer court above.  She is of the court of the most wretched of Fae.”

“Ooh, I want to know more about this,” Verona said.  “There’s courts?”

“Seven courts,” Guilherme explained.  “My court is one of wine and adventure, romances and tragedies, and simpler ballads of those led astray.  Heroes, courage, and the threads of epics braiding together and into one another.  The great bard wrote of us.  The court of nature and summer, touched by sun.”

“What are the other courts?” Verona asked.

“High spring, aristocrats and gilded things, parties, fine craftsmanship and even finer, craftier lies.  High fall, melodramatic and brooding, tangled in human ways and things, they play for keeps, with beginnings and endings in mind.”

“He paints it all so pretty,” Maricica said, from the shadows.  “But pretty paint is all so much of it is.”

“The courts below are dark shadows of the ones above.  The High Spring emulates human aristocracy and celebrity, the Dark Spring does away with the humanity and replaces it with the monstrous, dressing themselves in chitin, spiderwebs, and skins while they deal in nightmares and upstaging one another in the torments they can inflict.  The Dark Summer instead lost their Faerie nature, mingling too much with distant and opposed Others, because they fought them for too long, or they took them as allies one too many time.  Imagine the monsters of fairy tales, and you would not be far amiss.”

“Oh, I’ll tell you of the Court of Fall in Shadow,” Maricica said, slipping out of the shadows to appear right next to Verona.  “We cast off rules and roles.  That we should be this or do that.  Why wear one skin, hm?”

Verona looked at the Faerie in the eyes, then looked away.  She watched the wings as they brushed over the floor, the eyes and patterns of the wings forming new shapes as they ran into one another.  The wings were dusty, but it was a fine dust that poured off of them or slid on the surface of the wings.  The dust collected on the floor.

“The court of Dark Fall is the court of the wretched, if not the most piteous and powerful,” Guilherme said.  “When a Faerie of another court is cursed to carry a scrabbling rodent in her womb for every rodent born in her country, the penalty of a game lost or offending the wrong noble, she might crawl to the court of Dark Fall, to seek assistance and to become a different kind of Fae that can bear the curse and still function.”

“Grey Isbold,” Maricica said, like she was amused.  “Poor thing.  I did like her, as sour as she could be.  She went and got herself banished to Canada of your New World, of all places.  Nearly ten million kilometers squared of mice and rats being born, matching lives finding shape in her womb.  I suspect that was the intended final play, from the moment she scoffed at a comment from a young Faerie in the Bright Spring court.  The offended Fae became a princess, and her fate was sealed from then on.”

“How does that not devastate the ecosystem?” Lucy asked.

Maricica’s voice was a whisper.  “They grow inside her, they scratch and writhe, they’re eventually born, and they dart into dark corners, where they summarily disappear.  Their job is done, you see.  She’s learned to manage them, in more ways than the one.  My home court is one of transformations and curses.  I do think it’s the most interesting and subtle.”

“Is there a winter court?” Avery asked.

“There is,” Guilherme said.

“He doesn’t like to even think about it,” Maricica murmured, walking behind the three girls.  Avery averted her eyes, turning a bit. The Faerie woman went on, saying, “Faerie live for very long times.  Grey Isbold’s offense was done in an era when men held swords, not guns, and she had been around for thousands of years before then.  But as much as our bodies are immortal and we are ageless, our minds grow restless.  There are only so many things to see and do, so many stories to tell or adventures to participate in.  After a while, you start to see that stories tend to have the same underlying structures.  Then you see that ideas come from the same places.  There is precious little that is truly original in the world.  The courts are in large part defined by how we approach that problem.”

“That you get bored?” Verona asked.

“That we become boredom.  After thousands of years of listening to music and making our own, we might hear something new, and it entertains us for a few hours or days.  Then, trained by hearing thousands of years of music and its variations, our minds jump to the obvious conclusions.  We guess how the rest of it goes and what might come of it, and what follows from that new thing is only minutes, now, of entertainment or distraction.  Do the same for music, for interaction with others, and we fall into a kind of stasis.  Habits become personal rules, become inevitability, and the personality ceases to be.  That is the winter court.  Doomed to stasis, often powerful, but more automaton than individual.  Like your computers playing chess against one another, getting the same results over and over again, if you watch long enough.”

“That’s scary,” Verona said.

“Yes, I do think it scares him,” Maricica murmured, and she slid her bare arm out from beneath the wings she had wrapped herself in, along Verona’s neck and shoulder, pointing at Guilherme.  “The court of High Summer is the court that loses the most Faerie to Winter.  Adventure, festival, and pleasant debauchery can only tide you over for so long.  Of import: The court of Autumn Below loses the least.”

“She distracts you from what she is and what her court is,” Guilherme said.

“Okay, okay, wait, okay!” Lucy raised her voice.  “Okay.  You guys don’t like each other?  Fine.  We need to talk about more serious things.”

“Gifts!  We’re to give you three gifts!” Maricica said, like it was a realization.  She ducked between Avery and Verona, sliding past like silk.  There was almost no friction as the wings slid past them, but dust came away, forming clouds.  Verona’s Sight let her see Maricica’s hand move in the dust as she departed, a careful sweep of fingertips and taps at the air, like a piano player might play at his instrument.  The dust took shape, becoming something fractal as it expanded outward.

The last five feet of wings disappeared faster than Maricica had, as if they were being yanked into the dark.

“That’s not what I meant!” Lucy raised her voice, calling after the Faerie.

“But gifts,” Verona said, smiling.

Avery waved her hand through the air, dismissing the dust.  It smelled like forest, but not the tree and shrubbery part of forests.

“Are you getting the dust away or are you fanning yourself?” Lucy asked.

“I- both,” Avery said.

“I didn’t think she was your type.”

“She’s not, but she’s this woman that’s practically naked and she was right there.  Don’t you think most people would be flustered?”

“No!” Lucy stated.

Verona laughed.

“You’re not much better!”

Guilherme approached until he was more in the light, half of his body defined by the sharp sunlight that came in through the cave aperture, the other half by the deep shadow.  “The Fall fae is younger than you’d think, for a Faerie.  New to your world, new in many things.  Still old enough to not remember coming to be, but… no faerie I’ve met remembers.”

“Where do Faerie come from?” Verona asked.

“New Faerie?  Some say a human is taken, drowned in glamour, traded through hands until they pass under the noses of the oldest and most powerful Fae in the winter court, and then have the last traces of their old lives taken.  All that is left is the glamour and the general shape of them.  Other stories are similar, saying that a man who lives a lie can become more lie than person, they find their way to the places where Fae dwell, and the person is lost.  The lie becomes elaborate enough to have its own personality, and then you have a nascent Faerie.”

“Dark,” Avery said.

Guilherme smiled.  The cave was cool enough that his breath fogged a bit.  “While I’m telling you things about her, I could tell you one more thing about her court.  Fae of the High Fall traffic with humans, playing pranks, stealing them away to return them to the same place, years in the future.  You have the small, gnarled Fae who do errands and give gifts in exchange for cream or honey… but the Fae of the Darker Fall court don’t traffic with humans so much as they traffic in humans.  The children who are stolen away, the ones who I described making their way to the Courts, or being brought in to then be drowned in Glamour?  Largely the province of that girl’s court.  The ones who can’t be bartered away to other courts for power, cures, or fixes become parts and ingredients for remedies.”

“I’ve yet to decide if that’s what I wish to do,” Maricica said, dropping down from the ceiling.  For the moment her wings were extended and unfurled, they seemed to be bigger than the cave itself.  Heavily patterned moth wings stretched between finger-like sets of bones that extended too far into the darkness to see the limits of.

Then, crouching halfway between Verona and the cave entrance, wings wrapping around her, she seemed like the smallest one there, surrounded by a draping of her own wings for ten or more feet in every direction, the edges blurred by dust.

She jerked to one side, the wings pulling back out of the way, as more spears were thrown, wood sinking into stone.  She laughed.

“He doesn’t seem to want to let me have a dramatic moment without jabbing his big stick into it,” Maricica said, through her amusement.

“Can I ask what you did to get sent to the Dark Fall court?” Verona asked.

“Can we please stay focused?” Lucy asked.

“I was of the rare few born to it,” Maricica said, her eyes wide.  “And focus, yes, I’ve been thinking about your gifts since it was mentioned at the awakening.”

“Not about the gifts,” Lucy said, exasperated.  “I want to ask about the night the Carmine Beast disappeared, and about the Hungry Choir.”

“But,” Maricica said, “I will give you gifts you can use against me, relevant to your investigation.”

“What?” Lucy asked.  She looked at her friends, then back at Guilherme.

Looking at Guilherme as if for help.  Which was interesting, Verona decided, when Guilherme had done absolutely nothing to warrant being trusted, except for providing a bit of sanity when Maricica was being so manic and dramatic.

“Restrain yourself, Lucille Desiree Ellingson, and you’ll be rewarded for your effort.”

Lucy crossed her arms.

The Faerie walked, dragging her wings along the flat stone floor behind her.  Some of the patterns were reflective, catching the light and reflecting them onto the walls.  For a moment, the lines and curves seemed to suggest the building-tops at the horizon of an old city.  “Excuse me.  I thought of what gift might be best, and I couldn’t decide.  I then decided on three gifts for each of you.”

“How long is this going to take?” Lucy asked.

Verona reached over to mock-pinch at Lucy’s sleeve.

“A small piece of instruction for each of you,” the Faerie said, still pacing.  “Verona!”

“Yes?”

“An individual creature, the cat that walks alone.  Individuality and a distinct style help this trick.  When you form a contract or a deal, or even if you’re engaged in a simple back and forth with someone, you can insert your individual Self into things.  Do you know the rule of three?”

“Repeat something three times, nail it in,” Lucy said.  “Make it stick as a curse?”

“That’s one form of it.  Worryingly crude,” Maricica said, and there was a note of distress in her voice, her eyebrows drawing together at a point high in her forehead.  “Nail it in?  Who told you to do that?”

“Goblins,” Lucy said.  “They didn’t mean actual nails.  They meant with taps, pushes, shoves, or bangs, among other things.”

“Yes, yes.  I understand that already.  I thought I detected a trace of their stink on you.  I’m not the most polite of Fae, but I’m still polite enough not to point that out at first meeting.  We won’t get distracted; the fact remains that threes make good practice.  The trick is simple.  When engaging with someone, find a turn of phrase and repeat it three times. If it’s yours or your habit, it’s all the better.  It makes the contract or exchange more yours, which gives you more power over it, and in coordination with other actions or tricks, acts as the setup for the masterstroke.  I pledge to practice it with you and teach you to execute it beautifully, if you so desire.  That is the first of nine gifts of varying size, and you can see how you might want to know that for your interview?”

“Except you know about it,” Avery said, “so how could we use it against you?”

“If there’s no against, Avery Kelly, then it works perfectly.  A conversation or interview is a dance, both participants doing their best to work with one another.  This is a complex set of three steps, in tune with a final maneuver.”

“Did you do anything to the Carmine Beast?” Lucy asked, butting in.

“Yes.  But not that evening.  I did small mischief to her weeks before she was lost to us, temporarily blinding her.  She had threatened to eat me or send violent, crude things after me.  I needed to get away and the one trick was enough.”

“What did you do that had her coming after you?”

“A longstanding grudge.  I see something like her, imperious and powerful, and I want to challenge it.”

“Dragging it into the ditches and murky places you live,” Guilherme said.

“You live in a cave, dear sun-touched Guilherme.”

“More specifically, what did you do?” Lucy asked.

“More specifically, I disturbed some Others in her charge, giving them counsel and direction so they could ruffle her fur.  She’s wanted to be rid of me for years.”

“How many years?” Verona asked.

“I don’t count the years well.  Twenty-two, I think?  Has it been that long, Guilherme?”

“Unfortunately.”

“What do you even do in the meantime?” Avery asked.

“Guilherme once spent three years targeting me daily,” Maricica said.  “In a specific way and pattern, that encouraged me to use certain muscles and ignore certain others.  All so I might jump in a certain way in response to a certain pattern of attack, in an ultimately vain hope that he could swat me with one fell blow and be done with me forever.”

“A long time ago,” Guilherme said.  “There was more to the plot.”

“Of course,” Maricica said.  “Fae of my court are adept when it comes to changing shapes and forms.  Changing form lets me be rid of the injuries of my other body… but he sought to force me into grooves and patterns with my transformations too, in preparation for another trick, when he would bid an Other from the forests north of here to attack me.  My instincts would be to transform into something familiar…”

“…And even if she escaped, which she clearly did,” Guilherme said, “she would be tainted by the attack, which she was.”

Maricica laughed.  The dark turnaround on the echo seemed shorter this time.

“Verona Hayward,” Guilherme said.

Verona turned, looking back at him.

“What you just noticed?  Your noticing is part of the trap.”

“What makes you think I noticed anything particular?”

“Your expression changed by small fractions.”

“You seem intent on coming across like you’re on our side, Guilherme,” Lucy said.

“John Stiles paid me a call, late last night.  He asked me to be gentle with you.  I’d rather have him as a friend to drink with than have you as a pawn.  I, barring intervention, will give you answers, give you gifts or promises of gifts, and then leave you be unless you need something specific, as John requested.”

“It sounds so good, doesn’t it?” Maricica asked.  “But that’s ample setup for a trap, right there.”

“What are you on about now?” Guilherme asked.

“He promises you what you desire.  You want answers, you want gifts, and after hearing so many local Others warn you about us, you want to keep things simple, with a minimum of fuss.  You trust John Stiles to some extent, so you trust his friend, who he asked a favor of.  Then if you accept the gift he can simply… tighten the noose, that comes part and parcel with the gift.  He promised only to be gentle about it.”

“You said you had nine gifts for us,” Verona said.  “Are we supposed to believe there’s no traps?”

“I did say I had nine gifts,” Maricica said.  “Three tricks, three sets of instructions, and three glamours.”

Verona raised her eyebrows.  “And… no traps?”

“Each of you gets one of each, and I’ll tell you right now that I also planned to announce to you three small traps across the nine gifts.  To teach small lessons and let you know what to watch out for.  The most minor of inconveniences.  I would have told you before handing out any more, but then he had to be unsubtle.”

“We’re getting off track,” Lucy said.  “Back to the subject of the Carmine Beast…”

Three traps, Verona made a mental note.  Trap from Guilherme?

“Antagonistic relationship,” Avery said.  Lucy gave Avery a look, like she was grateful to have someone on the same page as her.

“I wouldn’t call it such.  She periodically forgot I existed, and something like her has a good memory.”

“More unpleasant than pleasant?  She wanted to kill you at at least one point.”

“Yes,” Maricica said.

“Where were you on the night of her disappearance?” Lucy asked.

“I was here, in this cave.”

“Where were you in the moment of her disappearance?” Verona butted in. She wasn’t about to let Avery get all of the points with Lucy.

“I don’t know the moment of her disappearance,” Maricica said.  “But at the rough time I understand it happened, I was a short flight from here, on the west bank of the river, collecting spiderwebs and mosses for a structured glamour.  Not a glamour pertinent to your investigation.”

Lucy nodded.  “Did anyone come to get you or do anything?”

“The smallest goblin came by, screeching.  It relieved itself on the path and booby trapped the trees.  I was inside the cave by then.”

“You didn’t go out or answer?”

“I don’t heed goblins,” Maricica said.  “If anyone else had come, I’d likely have gone and I would have been glad to get involved in discussion and the selection of our town’s practitioner.  Not that you were poor choices.  You’re an amusing trio.”

“Do you know who did it?” Lucy asked, staying on target.

“No.”

“Do you suspect anyone?”

“Of murdering the beast?” Maricica asked.

“Or absconding with its power.”

“I have no specific suspicions.”

“Non-specific suspicions?” Lucy asked.

“If I had to name anyone or anything I think is likely, I would say the Hungry Choir is a likely instigator or tool of an instigator.  You did say you wanted to talk about them, I remember.”

“Wait,” Lucy said.  “Is there anything you can think of that is pertinent to our investigation?  That we haven’t covered?”

“Yes,” Maricica said.

“What?”

“Gifts.”

“No,” Lucy said.  “Stay put and be quiet.”

“So rude.  You’re a guest in my abode.”

“My abode,” Guilherme stated.  “You’re a parasite that has entered and refused to be shooed out.”

Lucy turned around one hundred and eighty degrees, focusing on Guilherme, her open notebook in her hands.  “Guilherme.”

“I had an antagonistic relationship with the Carmine Beast.  She wanted me as a tool to use, I resisted her wishes and labels,” Guilherme said.  “Had I been a bloodier or cruder thing, she could have made me her soldier or assistant for matters of great import, but the glamour I wear makes me harder to pin down or label.  I shrugged her off, she disliked me, I disliked her.  The exchanges became boring.”

“Did you want her dead?” Avery asked.

“I thought it would be more interesting if she died,” Guilherme said.  “A replacement would shake up things across this area.  I didn’t kill her, at the time of her purported disappearance, I was alone, meeting a contact, not too far from the clearing where you awoke.”

“What contact?”

“I won’t say.  It would unravel plans and preparations I’ve made, in things unrelated to the Carmine Beast.”

“Anyone that can corroborate on your absence?”

“The spirits,” Guilherme said.  He spread his arms.  “Let them strike me down if I’m lying.  To be an Other and to be Forsworn is to be Undone.  Let them undo me, if they see it fit.”

Verona nodded to herself at that.

“Fine,” Lucy said, “and you got back when?”

“Not for a long time.  There were centuries of Court affairs to catch up on.  Even abbreviated, it took hours.  I returned here and Maricica taunted me with the announcement that the Carmine Beast was gone.  Then I went out to ask others for answers.”

“Do you know who did it?”

“No.”

“Do you suspect anyone?”

“I suspect Maricica, because this entire affair lacks subtlety.  I suspect goblins, because they would like the chaos that follows.  With the Carmine throne vacant, more goblins will crop up, as will violent echoes and Bogeymen.  The goblins would like that.  Charles Abrams has ample reasons to hold a grudge.”

“Matthew Moss places Charles Abrams at his apartment at the time of the beast’s disappearance.”

“He was once a summoner.  He may be forsworn, but there’s nothing saying he couldn’t have something stowed away.  He can use objects that an ordinary human could stumble onto and use, they would likely hurt him or have a chance to turn on the user, but with caution or sufficient preparation?  He made Others as the core part of his practice.  He could have sent something to do his work.”

Lucy looked at Verona, then Avery.

Verona nodded.  Mental note on that, then.

“Is there anything you haven’t told us that you think might be relevant?”

“No.  I’ve given you a succinct and complete answer, as John asked me to,” Guilherme told them, his voice soft.

It was a nice voice.  Verona didn’t feel flustered in the way Avery seemed to be around Maricica, but she didn’t feel pulled in either.  She wondered if the lack of any obvious signals was the trap.

“I wish you’d asked that question, about what I think might be relevant,” Maricica said.  “It relates to one of my gifts.  An instruction.”

“What instruction?” Avery asked.

“Lucille-”

“Lucy.”

“Lucy,” Maricica said.  “My second gift to you is to move where you stand in relation to the Others of Kennet, and give you insight into the ones who picked you.  A tool if you’re to effectively move against the Kennet Others, or protect yourself against them.  I ask you… why you?  You three specifically.”

“We’re young enough to be non-threatening and lack ambition, we’re old enough to not be complete idiots, and still be believable as the local practitioners,” Lucy said.

“More specifically.”

“Because we were there?”

“More than that.”

“I think you’d better just tell us the answer.”

“Because you’re already a little bit other,” Maricica said.  “Small ‘o’.  I could smell it on you from the moment you arrived at the awakening.  You smell like lonely frustration, Lucy Ellingson.  You stand apart and you know it.  Verona Hayward stepped back and isn’t even sure if she wants to step forward again, alienated in part by her own desires and intent.”

“And me?” Avery asked.  “Do I even want to know?”

Maricica shook her head.  “You told us your story.  That you’re alone.  I can tell you that there are three others around your age who could return your affections.  None are meant for you.”

“What?” Avery asked.  “No.  That’s- no.”

“The first of the three is self-loathing and denies her very Self.”

“Can you introduce me to her?” Avery asked.

“I could, but I would be in contravention of my oath to you,” Maricica said, shrugging, the totality of her wings rippling following the shrug.  “Like being attracted to like isn’t the entirety of compatibility.  You would love her at first but she would hurt you back.  Then you would hate her and she would hate herself.  Such is her loathing.  You should trust me when I say she would do lasting harm to you before you could heal her.  She will find her own happiness when her age is twice what it is now.”

“That’s…” Avery wrinkled her nose, swallowing.  “I’m not sure I believe that it’s that impossible.”

“All the same, I cannot act in contravention of my oath,” Maricica said, her head bowing.

“Who’s are the others?” Verona asked.

“Neither are meant for Avery.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Avery asked.  She looked and sounded a little horrified.  “Is there anyone out there that is?”

“Not in Kennet.”

Avery sputtered.

“What do you mean when you say not meant for her?” Verona asked.

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Avery said.  “This is horrifying.  What kind of gift is this?”

“The second is incompatible in other ways.  She would want and need Avery to be someone she could never be, and Avery would need and want the same back.  The third presently has a girlfriend in another city.  She loves her, and would be heartbroken if ripped from her.  In two years she intends to move to a bigger city with her partner.  It is true love.  Barring illness or incident, they will not be parted.”

Avery blinked a few times.  “So your gift to me is telling me I’m going to be alone forever?”

“This gift is me telling each of you that you were selected with the idea that you could be made Other,” Maricica said.  She gave Verona a momentary look. “There are answers to each of these things.”

“With some traps scattered among them,” Verona observed.

“Small inconveniences to teach lessons, and life-changing possibilities,” Maricica said.  “Here.  Lucy, a trick for defense and counterattack.”

She handed Lucy a slip of gilded paper.

“A wedding invitation, blown away by the wind, never touched by ground or water before I caught it.  I removed the writing and added my own.”

“Nettlewisp,” Lucy said.

“A trick.  A pinch of glamour, hold it in your palm and draw the rune in it.  Whisper your anticipation of the enemy’s attack or ploy.  If you’re right, you can temporarily blind them and confound their senses.”

“Like you did with the Carmine Beast?”

“Yes.  For Avery.  Another slip.  An old piece of paper, enriched rather than damaged by time, and another trick.  Make one item into a similar one with a bit of glamour.  It will make dealing with those awkward hats and masks much tidier.”

“Okay,” Avery muttered.  “Hell of a lot better than the ‘no girlfriends in Kennet’ gift.”

“Verona.  A bit of hide from a creature with silvered skin, inscribed with a trick to create images.  They won’t hold up to many things, but if they stand for long enough, they fool reality and become part of reality.  Glamour is the Faerie’s power, lying to reality, then making a statement bold enough to sell the lie, and not always with words.  Illusions that can be real.”

Verona nodded.

“The remainder.  One instruction that could help with the Choir.  Deals made with greater forces have their means of appeal.”

“The Carmine Beast was a way to appeal stuff, right?” Lucy asked.

“Yes.  But this is different.  If you’re ensnared, and if you truly believe a situation or puzzle was impossible, there are ways to challenge it.  Speak loudly, clearly, and invite all present to witness and add their voices to yours, that you think it is not achievable as presented.  For something like a living ritual, you could demand they prove that one round was possible to complete.  It costs them power to prove it, they would have to stage something similar enough, and depending on that staging, it could be argued down further.  If they don’t answer your call, they are weakened, and ways to escape the inevitable open up.”

“And if they prove they can do it?” Lucy asked.

“In the case of the Hungry Choir,” Maricica said, “I would imagine all living contestants would have to pledge their voices to the challenge.  If it could be proven, likely by having Waifs take on the strength of normal people, with the same wounds as other participants, and succeed, then all individuals who challenged it would be forfeit.  The ritual would forever after be stronger and more resistant to such challenges.”

“A last resort,” Verona murmured.

She saw Lucy nod.

It’s something.

“That’s three tricks, and three instructions.  A nettlewisp protection, a way to turn like into like, and a way to create simple images that may become reality.  A challenge for the choir and other great forces, a truth about why you were selected, and a way to make a contract your own.”

“I’ll reserve my gifts,” Guilherme spoke from the darkness of the cave.  “If what she gives you next doesn’t need fixing, it will still teach lessons that will enrich what I give you by what they lack.”

“So dour,” Maricica said.  Her eyes were bright in the gloom of the cave.  She moved her wings, bringing them forward.  “Would you like to change your skin, Verona?  Dress up as something different?  Lucy?”

“I’d rather watch over the others, first.”

“Avery.  Anything in mind?”

“No.  I’m a little leery after your other ‘gift’.  Geez.”

“Verona?”

Verona hesitated.  When she didn’t say no, she saw the wings sweep over and around her.  Dust rolled off her skin, fine enough to sift into and through her clothes.  She didn’t cough from it.

“What’s the drawback?”

“You tell me.  This is instructional, in part.  Then I’ll give you some glamour to take, along with some more practical instruction, so you can try it out on your own.  Give it a try for now.  Try to stay calm.”

“I’m not sure I’m okay with this practical a lesson right off the bat,” Lucy said.

The dust was cool against Verona’s skin, so fine a sensation that the sensation slipped to a different place from where she was sure her skin and clothes were.  Her headache and stomachache were gone.

The wings pulled away, with a suddenness and a stirring that scattered Verona’s thoughts.  When they resettled, they weren’t in the same configuration as before, because her brain wasn’t a human brain.

She heard Lucy shouting, and she didn’t have the means to understand the words.

Avery

“Change her back!” Lucy raised her voice.

Avery dropped down to a crouch, reaching, and the small animal backed off.  Avery couldn’t see it well in the dark, because it had black fur with a white underbelly, but it looked like it might be a weasel, stoat, a ferret, or something like that.  She wasn’t sure on the differences.  Mostly she could only see it by the white markings around the eyes and insides of the ears.

“She’s scared of me,” Avery said.

“You’re a giant to her, more than one hundred and fifty times her size.  Give her a moment to adjust,” Maricica said.  Her wings shifted, dropping further down from her bare shoulders, like she was about to move or do something, but it was just a change of her standing posture.  Holding her ground.

“Or you can frigging change her back!” Lucy raised her voice.

“If you’ll give her a moment, she should find a comfort zone with the body and the situation.  She didn’t give her permission for the change, and deleterious practices are always more effective if the subject invites it.”

“Dele-what?” Avery asked.

“Harmful.  Inflicted wrongs.  Curses and unasked-for effects like a transformation,” Maricica explained.  “If they ask for it, either by opening their mouths and saying the words, or by doing something in and of itself wrong and deserving of being wronged in turn, the deleterious effect will stick.”

“So this won’t stick?” Lucy asked.

“If she didn’t want it, it would be easy to shake off.”

“She doesn’t seem like she recognizes me,” Avery noted.  “Does she know what she wants?”

“That would be a rub.”

“A rub?” Lucy asked.  “I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean in that context, except it’s in no way acceptable to call it something as minor as a ‘rub’!”

“Glamour may become confused with reality if left unchallenged,” Guilherme stated.

“I want to challenge it!” Lucy raised her voice.

“She would need to, and it seems she’s fallen into the glamour.”

“Fallen into!?”

“Shhh,” Avery soothed, as Verona ducked her head and backed away a bit.  She tried to keep her voice gentle and quiet.  “It’s okay.  See?  It’s me, Avery.  Just last night, you said you loved us.  I think that was the first time in my life that someone who wasn’t my family said that to me.”

“Don’t make this mistake of thinking this is ignorance,” Guilherme said.  “The Fae of the Dark Fall often trick children into animal forms.”

“Why!?”

“You’re only agitating the girl, suntouched oaf.”

“Shh,” Avery soothed.  She dropped lower to the ground to make her profile smaller, her hands out, palms up.  “Come on, slinky Verona.  I’m safe.”

“They are good for little, but they are masters when it comes to transformation.  Themselves and others.  When all you have is a hammer and a propensity toward rot and ugliness, you’ll often find yourself using the hammer.  Animals can be made complacent, loyal, scared, or edible in ways much harder to achieve with the typical human.”

“Edible!?”

“I’m so disappointed you’re this agitated, Lucy Ellingson,” Maricica said.  “If she wants to return to normal, she should be able to.  It will be an effective lesson that will help her learn to make effective use of glamour.”

“She doesn’t want anything, that’s my problem!”

“Give her time.  The Self wins out in the end, against a working as shallow as this.  We’ll see how it emerges, or if it unravels the working and returns her to normal.  It may help if you talk to her.”

“Come on,” Avery murmured.  She turned on her Sight to try and see if she could make out Verona better.  She couldn’t, really, but she could see the tether, and she could see the small movements.  A whisker twitch.  An inquisitive sniff at the air.  Weasel Verona inched closer.  “Shhh.  Look at that pretty fur.  Of course it’s black and white.  I’d take a picture on my phone if I didn’t think it would scare you away.”

Lucy, watching the Faerie with a wary eye, slowly got down on her hands and knees, before dropping down beside Avery.  “I’m getting my nice sweatshirt dirty, lying down like this, Verona.  I need you to get with the program and clue in.”

“Use nice words, Lucy,” Avery said.  “Animals can read tone.”

“My tone is nice,” Lucy said, smiling, “the words don’t matter.”

“Come on,” Avery coaxed Lucy as much as she was coaxing Verona.  “Nice things.  How cool would it be if you could do this when you wanted to?”

“Hey, Ronnie,” Lucy said, her voice uncharacteristically soft.  “Hey.  C’mere.  Let’s get you back to being you.  You’re my best friend, you’re like family.  We’re tied together by the awakening.”

Avery watched as Verona inched a bit closer, reacted to a tiny movement of Avery’s hand that Avery hadn’t realized she was making, then reacted to the turn of Lucy’s head.

“Okay, Ronnie?  I want us to be secret witches even into our old age, to have quiet conversations together with Avery where we discuss if our boyfriends or Avery’s girlfriend should be let in on the secret.  We can get married and each of us have two maids of honor… or more like Avery and I will, and you can do something weird like that hypothetical you talked about last Christmas.”

Lucy, lying belly down on the ground, rested her chin on one hand, the other outstretched, palm up.

“What hypothetical?” Avery asked.

“Like… she said something like the only way she could stand having a boyfriend around without getting annoyed with him would be if they each lived in different houses, and never actually got married.  Like couples sleeping in different beds, but he’d have a house and she’d have an apartment over a bookstore or something.”

“I don’t see the appeal,” Avery said.

“I don’t either, but she did.  Does, unless her mind changed.  Damn it, Verona, don’t make me talk about you in the past tense.  You don’t get to frig off and-”

Verona twisted and dashed into the darkness of the cave.

“-You nitwit!  At least try!” Lucy raised her voice, loud enough Avery winced.

Avery got to her feet.  “Are there tunnels or ways out in there?”

“Or light?” Lucy asked, walking back to the Faerie, looking agitated.  “I have a flashlight in my bag, but do you have anything like a light switch?”

“We have means,” Guilherme said, “But-”

Verona came back, dashing across the cave’s floor, looking almost cartoon-like as she moved each leg multiple times in her scrabbling efforts to find traction on the flat stone.  Heading for the cave entrance.  To outside.

Avery dove, reaching for her, but the combination of her belly-flop on the hard stone and Verona’s speed made her miss.  Wincing, rolling onto her side, she reached out for the tether, trying to grab Verona’s tether like she had grabbed her mask from Declan.

Lucy, too, dove.  It was too slow, Verona was already at maximum alert.  Avery did what she could, trying to get Verona not by tugging her back, but by flicking her toward Lucy.

Lucy grabbed Verona’s tail by the end.  In the gloom, grabbing the black furred tail seemed to be a surprise to Lucy, to the point she let go immediately.  Verona, twisting and reaching back in reaction to the sudden touch, had lost momentum.  A second grab by Lucy secured her.

“Alpeana,” Maricica said.  “They woke you.”

The mare emerged from the dark, hair messier than usual.  She lurked at the very edge of the light that entered the cave, wincing at the brightness of it.

“Gotcha,” Lucy said.  “I got you, okay?  Relax, relax.”

Lucy stroked Verona’s fur, fingernails digging in past dense fur.

“Almost scared the literal poop out of me,” the ferret said.

Avery closed her eyes, mouthing a thank-you to- she wasn’t sure what.  There had to be something out there, if there were mares and faerie and goblins and ghosts.

“Sorry we disturbed you, Alpeana,” Avery said.  She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, and she felt like the apology should be more formal.  “Thank you for scaring her back in our general direction.”

Alpeana rubbed at one eye.  “I dinnae do nothin’, I was only sleepin’, and she comes runnin’ up smellin’ like sunlight an’ glam.  Glam’s hard for me ta ignore, but sunlight?  I might as well be allergic.”

“It burns you?” Avery asked.

“Makes tha eyes water.  Every bit of ye recoils and wants to put up a fight, but you can’t be fightin’ the sun, lassie.  Not many sorts can.  Leaves ye hurtin’ in little ways all over.  Like allergies.”

Why were accents the best thing ever, and was there a better accent than this burr?

“You don’t have to stay if being this close to the door is hurting you,” Avery said.

“I’m already up.  I’ve got to be at work tonight, an’ besides, I can’t be slinkin’ back off to bed when there’s guests out.”

“We weren’t planning to stay long,” Lucy said.

“All tha same,” Alpeana said, not moving.

“Just gotta get Verona here back to normal,” Lucy said.  She jostled Verona.

“Do we gotta?” Verona asked.  She stretched her already long body.  Lucy was holding her cradled in folded arms, and Verona pressed into the gap between arms and body, her body stretched out against Lucy’s ribs, her head settling into the crook of Lucy’s elbow.  “This is interesting.”

“We need to go get dinner.  You’re welcome to come to my place if you want,” Lucy said.

“Gimme a bit.  Let me see if I can figure this stuff out.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t go bolting outside while still animal brained.”

“This entire body is so weird.  The heartbeat’s so fast, and it’s so nervous and alert…”

“Is she going to be okay?” Avery asked Maricica.  It was hard to figure out where to look with the Faerie woman.  Eye contact was intimidating, anything else felt evasive, rude, or weird.  She spent a lot of time studying the pattern on the part of the wings that was on the floor.

“I do believe she is,” Maricica said.  “She dove deep but she resurfaced.  Most who take animal forms don’t learn to speak so quickly.  As Miss suggested before the awakening ritual, skills like a strong imagination make a good skeptic and a good practitioner both.”

“And useless for most real-life things,” Verona said.  “Like school, and getting organized, and keeping on task with making dinner…”

“I need you to start figuring out a way to undo this.”

“But this is cozy.  You’re warm.  You’re safe and friendly and this body really appreciates safe and friendly,” Verona said, stretching and writhing more.  She sounded almost drunk.

“Give her a moment,” Maricica said.

Avery looked at Maricica’s eyes, and it was easier, because the Faerie woman’s attention was entirely someplace else.  Studying Verona, studying Lucy.

Looking at the glamour, maybe?

“Do you sleep during the day?” Avery asked Alpeana.

“In tha sunlight hours, aye.”

“What do you do at night?  You said work?”

“I find tha people who’re most troubled and I trouble them more.”

“Why?” Avery asked.

“Some get therapy tha hard way, and some get a wee sheets-wettin’ bad one when they don’ deserve it, aye?  Cosmological, innit?”

Avery was pretty sure that if she could get a recording of Alpeana or any other girl saying cosmological in a thick Scottish burr, she would listen to it on repeat for days.

“What do you mean, cosmological?” Verona asked.

“Sometimes Fate or Time or Economy have a wee wrinkle and they need to nudge someone or somethin’, or tha cosmological balance sheets don’ add up and they need somethin’ like me ta take a peek or pull some things apart to sort out why and how.”

“Tied into the greater workings of the world,” Maricica said.

“I don’t suppose you ran into that a lot after the Carmine Beast died?” Lucy asked.

“Oh, aye.”

“Aye?” Lucy asked, surprised.  “What happened, or… what did your boss say?  Do you have a boss?”

“No.  No boss, not so far as I’ve ever met.  I work with instinct and nobody’s ever said I should do elsewise.  Give a small child a dream of her da dying before ‘is time, stretch it so it feels like tha dream goes for weeks?  Leaves her changed, after, even if she dinnae remember half of it.”

“Is that a jab?” Lucy asked, her voice harder.  “Are you messing with me?”

“I- no,” Alpeana said, her dark eyes opening wider.  “I’ve just been woken up, lassie, I might be a wee bit muddled, but I don’t think I’ve been jabbin’ at anyone or anything, why?”

Lucy looked like she was going to say something, then Verona moved, and she turned away, pacing towards the door.

“It’s monstrous,” Lucy said, with her back turned.  “Doing that to someone.”

“I dare say I’m a monster, lassie.  Might be tha she hugs her da a little tighter, after.  More likely tha wee bit sleeps uneasy, has some bad days, but the invisible wheels of tha world turn a bit righter, a bit straighter.  If I didn’t, the snarls might become doors and the wrongs in the cosmology might become right problems.”

Lucy turned away, walking a few steps.

Avery watched Alpeana’s expression change a few times.

“Um,” Avery said.  “You said it changed, after the Carmine Beast.”

“Sometimes I take what’s there an’ I move it around, or change a wee detail, sometimes there be a need, an’ I need to use what’s out there to build or fill in, an’ sometimes there’s a wrinkle or a snarl and I fix it an’ go on my nightly way.  Lately, this past month and a bit, wha’s there is bloodier, messier.  Wha’s missing is raw at the edges, an’ when I go to get materials, most of wha I have to work with is blood and chaos.  Wrinkles and snarls?  Same idea.  Means I need to go further afield to find what I need.”

“We should go eat with our families soon,” Lucy said.  “As soon as we can figure out the Verona situation, but we’d like to interview you at a later point, get more details on that.”

“Aye.  Whatever ye need.  Best if it’s at sunup, or you can come with me as I do tha rounds.”

The Verona situation was that Verona was now lying belly up, legs splayed, head back and in the crook of Lucy’s elbow.  Lucy saw Avery smirk, and looked down.

“Don’t you dare tell me you’re sleeping at a time like this.”

“I’m awake,” Verona said.  “I’m listening.  I wouldn’t want to miss learning about all this stuff.  It doesn’t mean I can’t lounge.”

“Lounging on me.”

“Alpeana,” Verona called out.

“Aye?”

“When you say further afield, what do you mean?  Are you spirit?  Or ghost?  Or something else?”

“I don’t rightly know, lassie.  I used to be a wee girl, not tha I was much of one, we had so little.  I dinnae remember the particular details, but I remember standing watch over my ma and da’s bed.  If I shook them out of a fitful sleep, they treated me kind.  Then I did the same for my brother and sisters.  Got a feel for when a bad one was coming.  Then neighbors, only I dinnae wake them up.  Then, some time later, I’m up in the cabin rafters, watching careful while my family got themselves sorted to go to church.  They wondered where I went.”

“So many of them they lost track of you?” Avery asked.

“Five sisters and one brother.  They dinnae forget me as much as they forgot everythin’ for a bit.  They got sick, I was the only one who dinnae get it.  It was the first church outting after.  Then I got the call, like an instinct tha’s not from me to me, but from somethin’ bigger to me.”

“Dream,” Maricica said.

“Might be,” Alpeana said.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Avery said.

“I haf a purpose, lassie, I don’t go hungry, I haf friends and I go interestin’ places.  It’s nae so bad.”

“Interesting places?” Avery asked.

“Yeah,” Verona butted in, from Lucy’s arms.  She craned her sinuous neck around a bit.  “Going back to that, where do you go to go further afield, for resources or materials?” Verona asked, again.  “I’ve been wondering about power sources, or resources, and how it’s all put together.”

Now I know how Lucy feels when Verona derails conversations, Avery thought.

“I dinnae have names for where I go.  I just go,” Alpeana said.  “Maricica comes, now and then.”

“I need materials sometimes,” Maricica said.  “Glamour is strongest when you build on a solid backbone.  There are places you can go that are more Other than human.  Many are hazardous.  The ruins, the abyss, the warrens- detestable.”

“Goblin infested,” Guilherme noted, speaking up for the first bit in a while.

“The paths, the spirit world.  The Faerie courts, of course.  There are other Other places.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Verona said.  “Explain?  Briefly?”

“We don’t have time,” Lucy said.

“But-” Avery cut in, stopping.  “-I want to know.”

“You’re pulling a Verona on me, now?”

“It’s the first thing Miss said about the practice, before we awakened, that really got me excited.”

“That reminds me.  We still need to deal with the Hungry Choir,” Lucy said, turning away from Avery and toward Maricica.  “Were any of these places where they, uh, ‘set the table’ last night, so to speak?”

“No,” Maricica said.  “But that is a very good question.  It would be their own place.”

“Was it Kennet, or like Kennet?” Lucy asked.

“It was Kennet, just… stepping in a direction that mortal feet cannot usually step.  Adjacent.”

“How many places are adjacent to Kennet?” Lucy asked.  “Or types of places?”

Maricica smiled.  “A good number.  Some are adjacent in a way that would put them outside Kennet, such as the Abyss or the Courts, and some are far, far away, like the Paths.  That said, the spirit world, the ruins, the basest parts of the warrens are adjacent in…”

“In a way that would put them technically inside Kennet?” Lucy asked.

“Yes.”

Lucy nodded, seeming to considered that for a second.

“If you want to know more,” Maricica said.  “Alpeana could be an escort.  She knows ways and routes.”

Avery looked at the mare, who sat in the shadows, pale hands combing and tugging their way through her hair.  When clumps or dark stuff came free, they were wiped against the dress, which was ragged and weird in texture, and might have been fashioned entirely from the stuff.  A dark face with dark eyes turned Avery’s way, staring back.

“I’d love that,” Avery said.

Alpeana nodded.

“I was thinking along another line, kind of,” Lucy said.  “The Carmine Beast’s power is still in Kennet, isn’t it?  But there’s no obvious… I dunno.  Blood trail, or evidence, or anything like that?  Metaphorical or otherwise?”

“You’re quite right,” Maricica said.

“So… someone could have killed the Carmine Beast and taken its power somewhere to stow it?  Technically in Kennet, but not… here?”

“That is possible.  The goblins could have stowed it in the shallow parts of the Warrens, for example, Edith could have taken it to the spirit world, or Alpeana could have taken it to the ruins.”

“Or the Hungry Choir’s world?” Lucy asked.

“Also possible.”

“Would it be physical?” Verona asked.  “What would it look like?”

Lucy’s phone began beeping.

“It depends on a great deal,” Maricica said.  “Someone like Matthew could drink it up, if he could wrestle his Doom long enough.  A Fae like Guilherme could make it look like something and hide it in plain sight.  But most often, it would resemble the typical resources one claims from a dead beast, writ large and alive with its own power.”

“Meat?” Lucy asked.

“And bones, tendons, fur, and fluids.”

Lucy shook her head, checking her phone.  “We should have left for dinner fifteen minutes ago.  My mom’s liable to be peeved.  Nobody thought to mention this stuff about overlapping locations with Kennet?  Or the power being meat and stuff?”

“Frankly,” Maricica said, “you didn’t ask, and I suspect many didn’t think to mention it because they thought you had already asked, or considered it common sense.”

Lucy sighed heavily through her nose.  “I feel like Verona’s not motivated to break this glamour so long as I’m acting as her bed.  She’s going to stay a… weasel?”

“Mink,” Maricica said.

Verona stretched.

“How do you break a glamour?” Avery asked.  “You said it could be done delet-”

“Deleteriously.”

“Yeah.  How would I deal with it if someone did it to me?”

“A complex question, depending on-”

“Brute force,” Guilherme cut in.  “Typical glamour is fragile.”

“Oh,” Lucy said.

Avery jumped as Lucy tossed Verona out of her arms.

The creature flipped end over end, and then hit the ground, sprawling.  In the hidden movements and shifts of dust from the awkward collision with the floor, masked by the tricks darkness played on the eyes, the weasel became human Verona again.

“Ow!  Geez!  My tailbone!”

“Your tailbone?  My arms, from carrying you!  I was worried, you jerk!  I completely forgot about dinner because I felt sick, worrying about you wearing that shape for however long, and I didn’t eat much of a lunch!”

Seeing Lucy giving Verona a hard time put Avery in mind of having Olivia over for dinner and her parents arguing with her siblings.  It was awkward, and both Maricica and Alpeana were watching.  Guilherme too, but he was moving through the dark, rustling.

“We should go,” Avery said.

“You should come back,” Maricica said.  “This evening, once you’ve attended to your filial role.  Your last gift awaits.”

Thinking about the other gift stung a bit.  Avery felt like she might be able to decipher the riddle of it or find a loophole if she could think on it long enough, but the conversation and the situation with Verona hadn’t really allowed a lot of thinking.  The end result made her feel a bit heartsick.

“Uh, maybe.”

“It’s one solution to what ails you,” Maricica said.

“It’s a trap,” Guilherme said.  “I know what she intends to do, and I already have a better way in mind.”

“It’s a means of self discovery,” Maricica said.  “You’ll be a richer person for having explored other avenues.”

Avery rolled her shoulders a bit, uncomfortable.

Lucy had helped Verona to her feet, and was now working on getting her closer to the door.  Verona was being a bit of a brat, plucking at her tongue.

“Maybe.”

“Do,” Maricica said.

“Arrive in the evening when Alpeana is absent, and we can light the cave,” Guilherme said.  “Her rights as first guest trumped yours, or we would have found a compromise.”

“I forgot they cannae see in the dark,” Alpeana said.  “I wouldn’t haf asked you to keep tha lights off.”

“Next time, then,” Guilherme said.

Avery nodded, turned to jog after her friends, who were at the entrance, and came face to face with Maricica, who had moved between her and the door.

Or face to collarbone.

The Faerie bent her head down, and Avery froze.

The Faerie whispered in her ear.

Then she was gone.  Avery remained in place for a minute, then ran after the others, who were giving her anxious looks.

“What was that?” Lucy asked.

“She wants me to come back later,” Avery said.  “I think I’m going to come back later.  If I can get away from my parents, which shouldn’t be too hard.”

“I don’t think you should be coming back here alone,” Lucy said.  “I didn’t miss what Guilherme said, about them abducting kids.”

“I don’t think they can, with the oaths they swore,” Verona said.

“Even with that,” Lucy insisted.  “Your idea, before, Avery?  About wanting us to have unanimous consent or agreements before we practice?  It might be a good idea to have a rule like that when it comes to dangerous Others like the Fae.  At least two of us have to agree to stuff.”

“Yeah,” Avery said.

“And we can’t forget there are traps,” Lucy said.  “So we have to pay a ton of attention.  We can’t fuck around, Verona.”

“I don’t think I’ve relaxed like I did while you were holding me since I was a baby,” Verona said.

“That’s bad.  That’s playing right into their hands.  Traps, Verona.”

“I know,” Verona said.  “But… if they want to trap us, they’re going to.  That’s what they are, apparently.  Saying no or freaking out might be the trap.  So… let’s understand it first.”

Lucy sighed, heavily.

“That was good, by the way,” Verona added.  “Asking about the overlapping places.”

“Yeah,” Avery said.  “I didn’t think you were even thinking about that stuff.”

“It’s all up there,” Lucy said, indicating her head.  “Floating around.  Two pieces clicked together.”

“It’s good,” Avery said.

“You’re really coming back tonight?” Lucy asked.

“I might be.  I want to.”

Lucy shook her head.  “She’s being brazen about there being traps.  You can’t know which has the trap-”

“So we assume they’re all trapped,” Verona said.  “Plan ahead, think of ways through, ways it can go wrong.”

“That’s a lot of planning and thinking,” Avery said.

“But it’s a lot of power, and it’s tools we can use,” Verona said.  “We should sit down, work through what we got, and think about each and every gift, and every part of the conversation.”

“Exhausting,” Lucy said.  She looked at Avery.  “And you want to go back?  This soon?”

Avery nodded.

“What was she offering?” Verona asked.

◬

“Mom!” Avery called out.  She grabbed the print-out from the printer as she passed it.  Making sure she covered a statement from earlier in the day, especially before she was doing a heavier practice.  “Mom!  I can’t find the boxes!”

“Check the basement!”

“Where in the basement!?”

“I don’t-”

“Mom, mom, mom, mom-!”

“Give me a second, Kerry, please!”

“But I have stuff for school tomorrow-”

“It’s almost your bedtime!  You’re just telling us about this now?”

“I only remembered now!”

Avery thought about navigating through the kitchen to the basement, but Kerry, her dad, her mom, and Sheridan were all there.  Sheridan wanted their dad to take her for driving lessons.

The television blinged and blanged with Declan’s game.  Declan’s friends hooted and hollered while Declan groaned.  Amber and Cal, if Avery remembered right.  She was glad to see Amber again.  After Declan had been teased about his friendship with a girl, he’d dropped his friend cold.

The noise from the TV was incessant.  Avery escaped into the back yard.  Her Grumble sat in a lawn chair, while Rowan, Laurie, and their friends stood at the base of the porch stairs, fifteen feet away, doing a bad job of hiding the fact they were vaping or smoking or whatever.

Her Grumble beckoned, moving his whole hand because his individual fingers didn’t move so well.  She approached, walking halfway to him.  He beckoned again, and she closed the distance, and hugged him.

His answering hug was stiff and rough, but the smile he wore when she pulled back was genuine, albeit halved by the stroke he’d once had.

“You arright?” he asked.  His voice had a burr of an entirely different sort to Alpeana, gravelly and not rooted in any accent.

“Ups and downs,” she said.  “More than usual, lately.  Kinda mostly downs, past day.”

“Your soccer?” he asked.  “Team problem?”

She shook her head.  “Just general problems.  A classmate might’ve died, kind of.  I don’t know.”

He reached for her hand, and it was uncoordinated enough she had to put her hand in his, rather than let him take hers.  He gave her a squeeze.

It struck her that she could tell him because he didn’t really talk a lot with her parents or other cousins.

“Are you okay, Grumble?  Are you lonely?  Or do you ever feel like you’re being left out, or lost in all… that?”

He shook his head.  “Don’t worry about…” and mumbled something she couldn’t quite get.  An old man like me, maybe.

“I worry.  I love you, you know.  I wouldn’t want you to be secretly unhappy.”

“I lived a good life,” he said, speaking like he was mumbling with a mouthful of gravel.  “I’m content to watch over this, proud of everyone, and what my daughter has done and made.”

“Except maybe Sheridan?” she asked, smiling a bit.  “You know, someone could say it’s okay if you’re not so proud of her.”

He made an exaggerated wink.  Avery smiled.

“No,” he mumbled.  “Her too.  She’s a…” something something.  Good girl?  Good egg?

“Let me know, you know, if you’re ever feeling alone in this crowd.”

“Like you?  Before?” he asked.  He still held her hand, and reached awkwardly over to pat roughly at the top of her hand.  “Your mom said.”

“Awkward,” Avery murmured.

“She cried at the dining room table that night.  She loves you,” her Grumble said.

Avery swallowed hard.

“I love you,” he said.  He let go of her hand to reach out, poking roughly at the side of her belly.  She smiled and pulled back out of the way.  He added, “You’re my favorite.”

“I wonder if you say that to most of the grandkids.”

“One or two,” he mumbled, winking again.  “If I want a driver.  Or a favor.  Mostly you.  And you don’t have to do anything but be you.”

She nodded.

“Do your sports.  Give y’r’rall.  Study hard.  Keep being good.”

“Okay, Grumble.”

He held her hand in both of his, tight.  “Meet a good man.  Bear children.  Pass on that goodness.  If you can sit in a backyard like I sit now, picking your favorite grandchild after… after a life well lived, that’s all I want for you.”

Her smile faltered a bit.  She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the side of the head.

“Love you, Grumble.  Let me know if you ever need company.”

He nodded, letting go of her hand.

She ducked back into the house.  The plates and dishes from dinner were still all over the table.  She gathered up what she could and took it into the kitchen, loading it into the open dishwasher on her way through.

Basement. There were plastic totes and boxes everywhere.  Old albums that didn’t fit on the shelves, yet to be digitized.  The photo digitizer, yet to be plugged in.  Old equipment from skiing, for a family of seven, across a few generations.  A sewing machine that came as part of a desk.  The spaces between stuff were narrow enough that she had to turn sideways at times.  Upstairs was better, but this was the aftermath of years of the life lived up there, stored away.

She sorted her way through, checking the occasional box.  Halloween stuff, more halloween stuff.

And then clothes.

She lifted a box down and began sorting through it.

“Find what you’re looking for?” her mom asked.

“Think so.  Hand-me downs.”

“We can buy clothes if you need clothes.  You don’t have to be thrifty on our account.”

“It’s for an experiment,” Avery said.

◬

Verona was waiting for her at the birch arch.  Avery hopped off her bike and leaned it against one tree.

“Lucy couldn’t make it?” Avery asked.

“No.  She was late for dinner and her mom enforced curfew.”

“Darn,” Avery said.  She hesitated.

“Come on.”

It felt wrong, doing this without Lucy.  But they couldn’t always be three.  Life got in the way.  Family meant obligations.  School and even her team meant obligations.

She felt a little nervous at the idea that she might have to miss stuff if her team stuff got more intense.

The cave was lit.  A sword lay on the ground, and caught light from outside, reflecting it in five different directions.  More blades, mirrors hanging from the ceiling, and scattered old coins caught those bits of light, similarly reflecting it out.

Guilherme was absent.  It was dark out and Alpeana had already started her rounds, it seemed.  Maricica sat in what had to be Guilherme’s chair, one wing draped over her, the other across the floor, like an inviting carpet.

Avery averted her eyes as Maricica dropped her feet to the ground, moving her wing out of the way, the other wing slipping down.  There was no need to look away, really.  The Fae revealed only what she wanted to reveal, and she wasn’t crass.  She simply suggested, hinted, teased.  Probably with everyone and everything she interacted with.

Dust rolled down and off of the Fae’s wing as she walked.  As she walked around the pair of them, the dust puffed up like it had hit something behind her.  When she moved on, there was a chair there, ornate.

“Tell me you’re not going to kidnap us or steal us away,” Avery said.

“I won’t,” Maricica said.  “Sit.”

“You mean no harm or foul?”

“No.  I will keep to the awakening oath.”

“Do you invite me to truly and thoroughly kick your ass and make you regret your actions three times over, if I feel you’ve wronged my friend?” Verona asked.

Avery raised an eyebrow, looking back.

“Gotta stand in for Lucy, right?” Verona asked, smiling.

“I invite such for tonight only.  I will not tie my hands further, nor trust that your feelings will not change or become less reliable.”

“Does that mean you intend to wrong Avery sometime after tonight?”

“It means what I said.”

“Or that you think I’ll lose it?” Verona pressed.  “This is an interesting evasion.”

“It is ill-advised to make long-term deals, even with fleeting lives such as those of man,” Maricica said.  “That was the trap Solomon set for the Others.”

“That’s even more interesting,” Verona said.

“Ask Miss.  She can tell you more.  For now… you have somewhere you want to be, don’t you, Ms. Kelly?”

Avery hesitated, then sat.

“Touch my wings,” Maricica said, from behind Avery.  The wings stretched out to either side and ahead of Avery.

She reached out to either side, touching the silky material.  The dust stuck to her hands.

“Feel the weight of it, cup your hands and feel the gravity of it.”

Avery did.  It was heavy, dense.

“Tilt your hands, sift it, let it blow away like dandelion puffs.”

Avery tried.  It did.

“Glamour is about the feeling and the relationship between you and the idea,” Maricia said.  “I would like to give you a new skin to try on, as I did for Verona.  I would like your permission.”

“We’d like a time limit,” Verona said.  “And ground rules.  No permanent changes.”

“Until the clock strikes ten or the effect breaks on its own.  No permanent changes except to memory and the lessons Avery takes away.”

“Okay,” Avery said.  “I don’t think this is going to work, though.”

“Perhaps not, but won’t it be quite the experience to try?”

Avery nodded.

“Is this a definitive yes, then?”

“Yes.”

Maricica touched her hair, fingernails touching scalp.  The effect was like a massage.

“Guilherme and his ilk would have you smear glamour on, but glamour and your hands make a tool for shaping and alteration.  Rub your fingers together as you might roll your thumb over a coin’s surface, and you can change color.”

Avery did.  The dust at her fingertips and thumb had taken on a blue tint.

“Press the glamour in to darken, flick the thumbnail against the fingers to lighten.  Stroke to lengthen, use the nails to cut and shorten.  The heel of the hand to knead and produce deformed bulges… and the lightest of touches following any of these motions to extend the effect out and over.”

The effect was like being at the barber, sitting in the chair, while her appearance was at the mercy of someone she barely knew or trusted.  Verona wasn’t freaking out, at least.

“There are parts you’ll want to attend to yourself,” Maricica said.

Not that many, really.

“Nails?” Avery asked, moving her hand up.

“Yes,” Maricica said, her hands moving to Avery’s face.  “Gently. You’re not trying to dig a canyon.”

Avery drew her nails across one side of her chest, smearing the dust across her top.  She worried she’d only done the smearing, without actually achieving anything, but when she reached down… nothing.  Even her sports bra was gone.

She did it again.

“Once it gets the hang of what you’re doing, the rest should follow, and attending to the rest will reinforce the whole.”

Avery pressed the heel of her hand into her lower stomach, around where her shorts were buttoned up, pressing down, to knead, produce an uncomfortable bulge, then the extension.

“I think I might have done that wrong.”

“No.  Try to accept what comes, find your comfort.  It will meet you halfway.”

“Rolling with it was what worked for me, when it came to finding my voice,” Verona said.  “Like… I just went at it like talking animals made sense.”

“How does this make sense?” Avery asked, indicating the front of her shorts, which sat differently with what was now beneath.

Maricica grabbed her throat, and she felt a moment of alarm, worried she’d offended.  There was the faintest of kneadings.

“You brought clothes?”

“Yes,” Avery said.

The voice wasn’t hers.

“Rowan’s old clothes,” she added.  She reached up toward her face.  Maricica intercepted her hand, briefly massaging it.  The differences were subtle, but there.

She offered up the other hand.

Maricica lifted her from the seat with a surprising strength, and set her down in a standing position.  Like she was dusting Avery off, she swatted at Avery’s hips.

Her shorts resettled, slightly lower down, pinching a bit at her new, slightly narrower hips when they did.

“Neat,” Verona said.

“The fae of the spring court especially would struggle with this,” Maricica said.  She moved around Avery wearing one wing like a toga, the other held out like a painter’s easel.  She adjusted and poked here and there.  “They like their lords and ladies, and do not do well thinking outside of that binary.  But what fits who differs from culture to culture.  Go back a few hundred years and your men would be laughed at by some today as feminine, wearing tights or clothes much like dresses, their hair long.  The skinny jeans of yesteryear, the long hair of the seventies, the bulky flannel shirts your women wore in the nineties… it means what you want it to mean.  Peter Pan was played by woman actors.”

Verona had her phone out.  It was set to camera, and she held it out so the camera showed Avery her new face.

A boy’s face, her own age, with freckles darker and spread more evenly across the face, hair longer on top and dark.  The shape of her face was different.  As Verona stepped back, she could see how the line of her body was different.

She adjusted her shorts, halfways wishing she’d changed into Rowan’s clothes first.  They were a bit tight around the armpits and hips,

“I have like, fifty questions to ask you,” Verona said.

“Would you like to go with her?” Maricica asked.  “With him?  Perhaps as a canine companion?  Or a male friend?  It wouldn’t take long.”

“I- no,” Verona said, meeting Avery’s eyes.  “She might need backup or cover.”

Avery nodded.

“I have to admit, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do like this,” Avery admitted.

“No?” Maricica asked.

“Go do what you’ve always wanted to do.  Have fun,” Verona said.

◬

Fun?  No.

Avery biked, deeply unsettled by the extra anatomy.  It was more up and forward than she’d imagined it being, but… even so, it was there.

She tried to put it out of mind, as she biked toward downtown, in the same direction as Heros and the other stores the kids at school went to for lunch.

She’d known she’d want to do this tonight.  She worried the Faerie knew that was the case, and had suggested it for that reason.  But that was a losing battle.  She’d get paranoid, thinking about being watched -being watched more, after Lucy’s worry about the goblins spying on her- and second guessing everything.

For right now, though, she was doing what she’d done last fall.  Before the winter had brought snow, in those lonely weeks and months, she’d made a habit of going out biking.  It was creepy and maybe stalkery, but… Pam was out there, across the street  from her parents’ shop, which closed at eight.

She liked seeing Pam, so she’d gone out more at night, in hopes of running into her.  She hadn’t had the guts to say hello, so she’d just waved while riding by.  And that had been nice, at a time when not a lot of things were nice.

This felt dirty, somehow, like cheating.  Maricica had called the glamour a lie, stated with enough certainty to override it and make it a kind of truth.  Wasn’t she wearing a lie, then?  It sorta felt like that.  Like it made everything from riding the bike and being here… wrong?  She couldn’t put her finger on it.

Verona was good enough at bullshitting to wear the lie comfortably, and Avery kind of resented every reminder that it was what it was, including the unique anatomy, and the way her shirt sat.

Pam was helping a little girl with a spinning superhero toy, with a string to pull that made the superhero soar skyward before it unfolded and paused in the air.  It wasn’t unfolding right.

Avery coasted to a stop and watched from a distance as Pam tried to fix the string.

Before, she would have just taken the fact that Pam was here as a nice bonus in her day and moved on, happy that Pam smiled when she waved, and thinking maybe she’d made Pam’s day a bit brighter too.

It had been a bummer when the snows came and she couldn’t bike anymore.  It made it a bit too difficult to swing by for a chance meeting.

It was hard to shake the idea that it was stalkery, too, so she hadn’t exactly resumed it when the snow had thawed.

Now, though.  Wearing a different face gave her a kind of courage.  She biked a little closer and approached.  Pam, who was crouching down in front of two nine or ten year olds, looked at her and then handed over the toy when Avery reached down.

Avery licked her thumb, touched her hair, and got a bit of the glamour on there.  She used it to adjust the string, stroking it softly until things were in line and coiled up.  At the same time, she fixed a chip on the wing.  She’d seen toys like this before.

She knelt down, her eyes momentarily level with Pam’s, and gave the end of the string to the nearest kid.

The kid pulled back, and the toy went soaring.

“Whoo!” Avery and Pam cheered, along with the kids, who immediately ran off, chasing the toy toward the sloped field that led down toward the river.

“Nice work,” Pam said.  “That was a fast fix.”

“My sister had one, so I learned the ins and outs,” Avery admitted.  Which was true.  Sheridan had had one, which had been handed down to Avery, but it had been so battered it only worked one time out of three.  She’d learned how it was put together while trying to fix it.

Then Declan had stomped on it.

“I haven’t seen you around.”

“Nope,” Avery said.  “New face.”

“Are you moving in?” Pam asked, bright, straightening.  She had put a flavored ice tube on the wooden railing between the sidewalk and the field, and picked it up now.  Her lips and tongue were blue.

Avery leaned into the railing, watching the kids.  “No.  Sorry, not anytime soon.”

She wished she was as good at this as Verona.

“Too bad.  New faces are nice,” Pam said.  “And nice new faces are… bleh.  Haha, I don’t know how to phrase it.  I meant that you did something nice.”

Avery smiled.  “You were helping them first.”

“They’re my cousins.  I’m watching them.  I don’t get credit for that, when they’d just whine at me for the next hour to fix it if I didn’t do anthing.”

“You get some credit, at least from me.”

“Okay, sure,” Pam said, smiling.  “I wish I got some of that from my family.”

“I know that feeling.”

“Pamela,” Pam said, putting out a hand to shake.  As Avery reached for it, Pamela withdrew it.  “I don’t know why I went for a handshake.”

“You can call me Kell,” Avery said, putting her hand out, instead.  That’s not a lie, right?  She can?

Pamela shook her hand.

This felt like cheating.  Like it was all going to come around and bite her in the ass, or something.  It was too nice.  Too close to what she’d imagined doing, when passing Pamela, and thinking about striking up a conversation, or in school.

“Ice tube?”

“I do errands around my parents’ shop in the afternoons.  I collect the change from one of the games they put in the back for kids to play, that kids drop all over the place.  It’s usually enough for a treat or two after the shop closes.”

“Hey, better than nothing.”

“It’s not really much better than nothing.  They’re pretty crappy, but they’re only fifty cents.”

There was a bit of an awkward pause, and she decided to act on impulse again, halfway expecting everything she did to be the thing that would break the illusion.  Maybe literally.  “Can I buy you an ice cream?  I think there’s a store just down there?”

“What?” Pamela laughed, one note.  “Why?”

“Because it’s way better than nothing?  Because I want to?  As a reward for putting up with little cousins?”

“I feel like I’m being pranked,” Pamela said.

“Why?”

“Because… why?”

“I said why.”

“But… what’s the quote?  You must be truly desperate if you’ve come to me?  If you go up toward the ski hill, I think some of the popular kids hang around the ski hill.  They’re going down the hills with cardboard sleds, I think.”

“But you’re here.  You’re someone that’s nice to kids.  You’re, um.”  Avery indicated vaguely in Pamela’s direction.

“I’m what?” The question was defensive.

“Pretty,” Avery said.

Anonymity didn’t keep her face from flushing as she said it.

She’d wanted to say that, insist that, back at school when she’d heard Pamela talking about herself, months ago, and had kicked herself for not speaking up ever since, even as she simultaneously knew she wouldn’t have known what to say and would have cocked it all up.

She’d told herself she’d work with Maricica, learn what she needed to learn about glamour, and simultaneously try to at least fix that.

Except… Pamela looked hurt.  Wary.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are your friends watching from a distance or something?  Am I a bet?”

“No!  I mean, no, you’re not a bet, yes, I think a friend is watching me, but it’s not because of a bet.  It’s because- my intentions are good.  I’m going to get that ice cream.”

“Okay,” Pamela said, wary, frowning.

“What’s your flavor?”

“Pistachio cream.”

Avery gave her the thumbs up.

Face flushed, Avery went in, bought two ice creams, and took them back outside, half expecting that Pamela would have fled.

In silence, the two of them watched the kids play, firing the toy up, where it made loud laser sounds, then dropped back down.

The toy broke again, the kids came running up, and Avery fixed it again.

Things were nice, when she wasn’t hyperaware of how she was pretty much lying.  It felt off, and that offness blurred into just about everything around her, making her feel like a charlatan.  It made the clothes feel weird, made her unsure of her expression…

Like her entire life had been inverted, and things she was previously insecure about were now secure in anonymity, and everything she’d taken for granted was a massive forgery, just close enough to reality that she couldn’t make out the flaws, but just wrong enough she could tell they were there.

“Hey Kell?”

“Mm?” Avery asked.

“What would you say if I wanted to kiss you?” Pamela asked, averting her eyes.

“I…” Avery’s mind went through about fifty different answers, and settled on none.

“You don’t want to.”

“I do!  I do, but… I’m not… this is the last time you’re seeing this face, probably.  It’s not fair, it’s…”

It’s not me.

I don’t like wearing this glamour.  Even if it lets me do things like this.

“You weren’t lying to me, before?”

“I think you’re really pretty.  It sucks to hear you apparently don’t believe me, but I sorta get it.  My friend might be out there watching from a distance, but if she’s laughing, it’s at how much of a dork I’m being right now.  Not at you, she’s not that kind of person.”

“I thought maybe if I asked you to kiss me, and you said yes, it’d be because of the bet.”

“No bet.  Really.  Who would do that?”

“Assholes.  There’s a lot of assholes.  People treat you as subhuman if you’re fat.”

“You’re not fat.  You’re curvy and I… really like curvy.  I like your face.  I like- I like your clothes.  I think you’re clearly nice, and cool, and…”

Pamela leaned in, and Avery stopped talking, pausing to wrestle with herself.

The glamour broke across her chest, like a crack spreading across ice, starting at the heart.

She kissed Pamela, and… she’d never thought kisses would be warm, stupidly.  She’d never thought kisses would taste like the ice cream that Pamela had just been eating.

Mostly, she wished she was herself.  It was a pointed regret, that made the cracking spread further.  She prayed it wouldn’t be in a way that Pamela could see.

But as pointed as that feeling and regret were, she wanted to give Pamela this.  A nice moment, a person telling her how it was, in reality.  An answer and a moment that she could use when waging that internal war against assholes like she’d talked about.

“I think, um, I’m going to eat pistachio ice cream a lot, from now on,” Avery admitted.  “And think about this.  It was nice.”

She saw Pamela’s face, pink, break out into a smile, like she finally believed what Avery or ‘Kell’ had been telling her.

“I guess I’ll do the same with, uh, caramel?”

“Vanilla chocolate caramel.”

“Okay,” Pamela said, biting her lip.

“I’ve got to get going, or my mom and friend will get frustrated with me.”

Pamela nodded.

Avery ran, twisting her body to hide any of the cracking along the chest, even though she suspected her shirt covered it.  The feeling of wrongness sat with her and made the cracks impossible to ignore.

The glamour fell away by the time she reached Verona, coming away like panes of stained glass that turned to dust instead of shattering on hitting the road, while she biked.

“After all that, I thought you’d stand there like a dork,” Verona said, smiling.  “But you went for it.”

“She went for it.  I accepted.”

“It didn’t last long at all, though,” Verona said.  She turned.  Maricica was standing further in the alleyway.

“It wasn’t for me,” Avery said, “That wasn’t me.  It felt like a lie.”

“It’s not the skin you’re supposed to wear,” Maricica said.  “Some could.”

“I’m still glad I did it.  Assuming there’s no traps I didn’t recognize…”

“You’ll know if it’s a trap when the moments arrive,” Maricica said.

“I’m glad I did it.  Thank you.”

Verona elbowed her.  “First kiss?”

“Excepting a time boys held me down in third grade and kissed me… yeah.  I’m still not sure it counts.  I wasn’t me.”

“Then it doesn’t count,” Verona said, shrugging.

“We gotta get home,” Avery said.  She looked up.  “It’s getting dark.”

“Guilherme stopped by to look, and make sure nothing was going tragically wrong,” Verona said.

Maricica scoffed.  She wrapped her wings around herself as she walked between buildings.  They began to take on the appearance of clothing, as she disguised herself as an ordinary twenty-something woman in a dress.

“Did he say anything?”

“His gift awaits,” Verona said.  “Subtler and surer.”

“Okay,” Avery said.

There was a moment, as a car passed with highbeams on, that Avery saw Maricica’s face in silhouette.

It wasn’t a human face.  Or even a human-like face.  If anything, it looked like a bat’s head mixed with a whole spider.

The abrupt, blinding light passed, and Maricica looked her way and smiled, like nothing was wrong or unusual.  A girl who could have been her babysitter, or Rowan’s friend.

Yeah…

She hadn’t forgotten about the Choir, or the murder.  Or the scary stuff, or the doubts and paranoia.  She hadn’t forgotten the monsters.  Maricica was one.

But… for moments like this?  Even mixed feelings?

“Then I think I’ll try Guilherme’s thing too, then,” she said.

Lucy

Last Thursday – Spell notes #2

---

Lucy was awake an hour before her alarm was set to go off, and she tended to set her alarm early to begin with.  Rain drummed against the windows, but the light of the sky outside was escaping around the edges of her curtains and her room was stuffy, humid, and hot.  Birds had found refuge in trees just outside her window, and were chirping incessantly.  To top it all off, there was someone in her house that wasn’t her mom, and they were periodically laughing.

She felt like she should recognize the laugh, but her memory failed her.

Hot, her pyjamas sticking to her, she hated the idea of having to deal with the rain, or sit in a muggy classroom, hated the idea of dealing with school for a full day with only five hours of sleep under her.  Lucy tossed and turned, drifting on the edge of sleep.  When she heard the voice or laugh, feminine and energetic, constantly being shushed by Lucy’s mother, she found herself at the boundaries between memory and dream, not quite escaping into dream for those precious forty-five minutes of sleep.

Then a precious thirty minutes.

A precious fifteen minutes.

Ten minutes.  She considered waking up later, cheating her way through her morning.  But with weather like this, her hair was going to be a nightmare.  Was it worth getting another thirty or forty five minutes if she were to change her alarm now?  She’d have to deal with comments about her hair all day, probably.  Or weird looks.

Five minutes.  When a day was looking to be this awful, baseline, she could fancy asking her mom for a fake sick day.

Then one minute.  She put her hand out over the alarm clock, waiting.  She smushed her face into the pillow, waiting.

A press of the button cut off the ‘bweep’ of the alarm before it could get to the ‘ee’ part, putting it on snooze.

Reluctant, she sat up, turned off the alarm in that way that required more effort, and detangled herself from sheets.  Faced with the task of making her bed, seeing the roughly Lucy-shaped stain on the satin sheets and pillowcase, she pulled everything off her bed, instead.

It was bright out, for how early it was and how much it was raining.  Masses of bugs were trying to take refuge against her window, which was closed.  She opened it, and flicked the screen to get rid of the fifty or one hundred bugs that were clinging to it.

No breeze to help with the airflow.

With an armful of sheets, she navigated her way to the laundry room.

“-a scam?” Lucy heard the guest ask.  “MLM type stuff?”

“I don’t sell,” Lucy’s mom said.  “I administer it.”

“It feels skeevy.  Are you okay with it?”

“It pays the bills, Heather.  I don’t love it.  I would love to be doing anything else.  But there aren’t a lot of options.  I looked up the medicine before accepting the position.  It’s fine, it helps a select number of people a lot.  The only concerns I have are how they market?”

“A lot of emphasis on the brand name.”

“I mean more of the high-pressure sales tactics.  Not many people need it, and when they find someone who does…” Lucy’s mom sighed.  “…They dig their claws in.  Half the time I’m visiting an elderly person, they’re guarded or holding back worries or information they felt they couldn’t share with the salesperson, because they were steamrolled into it.”

“Skeevy.”

“Can we talk about anything else?  It’s too early for this.”

“Hm.  How’s Booker?  Gosh, the last time I saw him, he was a giant.”

“He’s good!  He’s doing well in his classes, or so he says, he seems to be interested in the subject material.  He’ll talk your head off about political science if you give him a chance, which is simultaneously endearing and exhausting.  He’s got a girlfriend, and she seems sweet.  She’s supposed to come by this summer.”

“It’s summer for University students already, isn’t it?  Is he taking classes?”

“Working.  At the same place his girlfriend is.  It’ll be good to see him, and I think it’ll do Lucy a lot of good.  It broke her heart when he left, even if she doesn’t want to show it.”

Lucy, hugging her sheets, slipped into the laundry room and sorted everything into the right hamper.

She went into the bathroom and turned on the water.  Her hair was still wrapped up in silk, and she weighed leaving it on with the shower cap pulled over it, before deciding she didn’t want to get it wet.  She unwrapped her hair, re-covered it with the shower cap, and-

“Lucy!” her mom called up the stairs.

“What!?”

“You showered last night!”

“This’ll be a quick one!  I’m sticky!”

She heard the not-shouted word of assent from below.

Downstairs, her Aunt Heather laughed.  Her dad had been the only child born to Lucy’s grandmother and grandfather, and the rest of his ‘siblings’ were the long-term foster children that they then brought in.  Uncle Martie and Aunt Renee had been the only ones to be formally adopted, a kind of informal thing that had happened when they were twenty.  Aunt Heather hadn’t accepted the formal adoption.

She was something of a free spirit, and Lucy’s mental picture of the woman always put a wine glass in her hand, even for mornings, but she didn’t associate that tendency with any problems, really.  At worst, a spilled wine glass at the table one Easter, and waking up one holiday at her grandmother and grandfather’s house to find Aunt Heather still dressed from the night prior, sleeping off a hangover on the couch.  Lucy had been young then, hugging a stuffed animal, and had wanted to watch cartoons, and had turned on the television, hurrying to turn down the volume on the set that was so old that it didn’t have a mute button.  She had watched without sound until Aunt Heather got up.

More importantly, maybe most importantly, Aunt Heather had been the one person from her dad’s family that had really stuck around and stayed in contact.  Even Lucy’s grandfather and grandmother were kind of busy living their lives, not helped by the distance.  They sent a generous card on Lucy’s and Booker’s birthday and at Christmas.

Lucy rinsed off, then stood in front of the sink, pulling off the shower cap and undoing the loose coiled braids of her hair.  The basket by the sink had about fifty hair products in it, including ones she or her mom had tried and hadn’t liked, and, as she dug, she couldn’t find what she was looking for.  A second basket had hair styling tools, and she found the slightly dusty tub of cream at the bottom corner.

High hold, humectant free.  She had another tub she really liked, but it had a fruity smell and the same bugs that were clinging to her bedroom window and screen would be drawn to her hair as if by a high powered magnet.  That one was for indoor events only, or the middle week of summer where the bugs weren’t slowly waking up or preparing to lay their eggs before winter.

Even with the hair stuff, her hair had shrunk and deflated.  Her attempts to puff it up, extend it out, or give it any shape at all just saw it sag.  Which meant… what were her options?  Going small?  Braiding it and winding it up?  She’d look pretty severe.  Or a low ponytail.  Which would be hotter, her hair close to her neck on a day that was already going to be a slog.

Her hands still in her hair, dense with cream, she couldn’t even see her face, because the weather combined with even the moisture of a cool shower had fogged everything up.  If her Aunt Heather wasn’t over, she would have opened the door to give the moisture somewhere to go.  She wiped the mirror with a washcloth to give herself a window to see her face and head.

She braided her hair, and wound it up, before setting it in place with pins.  It was dense and heavy enough that she needed a good few before she felt secure.  She really hoped she wouldn’t have to run around a lot for gym.

Seeing her face, she thought about the app.  About how she didn’t rate.

She finished her hair, adding more hairpins as a just-in-case.  Then she got a bit of gel, a small brush, and began gelling down the bits of hair at her hairline, as well as the bits along her head that had escaped the passes of the brush.

Why did she even bother?

Coconut moisturizing cream, rubbed at elbows and knees, and that one patch at her leg that got dry for whatever reason.  Concealer, dabbed under the eyes, and at her hairline, where a couple of reddish bumps were.  Baby pimples.  A consequence of having her hair pulled back into ponytails.

She bothered, she decided, because they’d put it on her if she didn’t bother at all.  They’d note the ashy skin or the even, dull, deflated hair, and even if her classmates were too nice to really bully her, there would be looks and well-meaning comments, or advice that absolutely did not help.

At least like this, she could look at herself in the mirror and look at each part of her body in isolation.  Long neck, good chin, full lips, ears a little big but whatever.  Eyes a little glare-y by default but whatever.  Nose… whatever.  She liked it.  Hair… under control.  Skin… better than most girls in her class, if she was honest.

Objectively… she could rate the angry ballerina in the mirror a seven out of ten.

Subjectively… she rated a zero?

That was on them, and she was putting in the effort, which meant she could give them a hearty and collective fuck you.

She moved to her bedroom, and picked her clothes with a similar mindset.  She hadn’t said as much out loud to even Verona or her mom, but her mindset when it came to picking clothes was that she wanted her things to be bulletproof.  Not in the literal sense, but in the sense that it had no weak points, gave her critics nothing.  No fading, no rips, no tears, no stains.  The material was often from the higher-end athletic brands, because it was hardier and tended to hold up better over time.  Anyone who pointed and laughed at stuff branded with the Vikare swoop or the Dassler waves just looked like an idiot.

Again, not that her classmates did or would, because any obvious bullies would get a harder time than any potential targets.  The thing was that the bullies were still out there, only they were silent.  They thought it.  This kind of stuff was protection against that thinking and those observations.

She settled on a hooded top that stopped just past the ribs.  White, sleeveless, moisture-wicking, with the Mission Canada logo on the breast.  She put it on, then immediately removed it, changing bras, before pulling it on again, so she wouldn’t be flashing hot red through the hole of the sleeve.  Her pants were looser, black, with slits all down the sides and inside of each leg, to let the air flow.  She dug sandals out of her closet and slipped them on.

Hair… clothes… the stuff she needed to put in her bag.  She included a spare umbrella, because she wanted to be triply sure she didn’t get her hair wet.  She weighed everything against the day to come.

Against the mundane day to come.

There were other factors, she thought, as she got the notebook for her investigation notes, and thought about what bases needed to be covered.  The whole thing with the Faerie, the interviews, everything else… it stressed her out just thinking about it.

Maybe today could be a day with no practice, a minimum of Others.

She flipped through the book, and stopped on the calendar.

It was Thursday.  They’d gone back to school Monday, found the flyer, and got the down-low.  They’d prepared and practiced some, extended that practice to Tuesday, and then the ritual had been that night.  Yesterday, they had mostly reeled, they’d done their research, and the Choir had made it clear that they had their hooks in, almost taking Avery.  Then the Faerie, and apparently more Faerie stuff after Lucy had gone home to dinner late.

Tomorrow was the next night of the Hungry Choir’s ritual.

Lucy picked up her phone, and she dialed.

The phone rang four times before Reagan picked up.

“Do you know what time it is?” Reagan asked.  “Christ in a cupcake, I was wondering who or what the hell you three were, and it’s clear you’re not human, because you know I don’t have work or school, and calling me before seven in the morning on a day I should be sleeping in is monstrous.”

“I wanted to call you before I forgot, and to give you time to discuss, think about it, and maybe communicate with others.  We found a little something you might be able to use.”

There was a pause.

“I’m listening,” Reagan said.

“These things, they’re bound by certain rules and expectations of fairness.  You can challenge them, if you think they’re gaming it or pulling a fast one.  Unsolvable riddles, unwinnable fights.”

“How?” Reagan asked.

“You say it.  Loudly and clearly, try to get other players on your side so it has more clout, and costs them more.  Scream it to the sky, call them cheats, be very clear, and don’t lie or embellish.”

“We can’t speak in there unless it’s part of the song.”

“I think you can say this.  Maybe… cut to the quick.  Go straight to calling them cheats, then elaborate.”

“…Okay.  What happens?”

Lucy took a seat on the corner of her bed.  “They’ll owe you and the universe proof that the game is winnable.  The…”  Person? Was Miss even a person? “…we inquired, and we were told that in this particular scenario, they might have to turn some of the waifs into people and have them do what you did that night.  I’m not sure, but I think if you get more people on your side, the burden of proof might be higher, and they might even have to give those waifs similar injuries.  They’d have to do the ritual successfully.  If they can’t, you might be freed, or given a pass for that round.”

“What if they win?”

“Then my understanding is that in situations like that, where they reveal tactics or answers to riddles, or anything like that, is they wouldn’t want witnesses.”

“We all die?”

“Maybe.  Or whatever happens when you lose.  Becoming a waif.”

“It’s a thing we could do if we’re going to die anyway.”

“Maybe,” Lucy said.  “But… to me it feels like that’d be too easy for you and too problematic for the Choir.  It costs them power to re-enact the situation and doesn’t get them much.  Maybe if you do it, and they prove they can beat it… you get worse than becoming a waif?”

There was a lengthy pause.  Lucy got up from her bed, still holding the phone to her ear, and got the chain she’d been wearing around her neck.  It had her house key, her side door key, her locker key, the dog tag, and the ring of weapons strung on it.  She donned it and dropped it through her collar.

“What’s worse than becoming a waif?” Reagan asked.

“I was thinking about it,” Lucy said.  “I’ve been thinking a lot about worst case scenarios.  I think it’s not out of the question that you end up becoming a waif, but they leave more of you inside, watching and unable to do anything.”

There was silence on the other end.

“When we got involved, we got entangled with it,” Lucy admitted.  She adjusted how the keys and ring sat beneath her top.  “They started showing up, tried to trick my friend into the ritual.  Could be that instead of erasing memories or revising histories, they suck in your loved ones.”

“My boyfriend,” Reagan mused aloud.  “Or my little sister?”

“Or, um.  I was thinking about this last night, before bed.  Mostly thinking about how the ritual might have grown or evolved over time, and where it might go.  But it applies.  You know that world you get sucked into?  The stage?”

“Obviously.”

“What if they dragged people in there… and didn’t put them back in reality after?  I could see a situation where they covered their asses and kept people from getting clever ideas like challenging the ritual, by evolving or adjusting how the game works.  Imagine signing up to the ritual, and then they bring you there and keep you there for the three weeks.”

“There’s no food or water there.”

“Except the animals?” Lucy asked.  “I thought it’d make a kind of sense.  They’d give you an animal and you’d have to eat, share, fight over who got how much.  Or you’d have to eat as much as you could on the night of.  The water would be a problem.”

“There’s some.  Some salt water.  Murky water.  Water from taps is rusty or black.  But if you had a few days… you could probably find a way to filter it.”

“Yeah,” Lucy said.  She picked up her bag.  “I could see a scenario where they can’t take everyone, because the group isn’t unanimous in speaking out and challenging the round, but then they change the dynamic or they make the game evolve, with the person passing on the message about the challenge, and letting people infer what happened.

“It’s a last resort, then.”

“I would think so.”

“I’ll pass it on.  Thanks.”

“Keep an eye out for more calls.  I’ll try to let you know if we uncover anything else.  I can’t promise that they won’t be at inconvenient hours.”

“Nah.  For stuff like this?  Thanks for looking out, Lucy.”

“Sure,” Lucy said.  “I should go to school.”

“Back to bed for me.”

“Jealous.”

Lucy hung up.

Hefting her bag, she opened her door, stepped out into the hallway, and stopped.

The sound of high voices filled the house, all at once.  Seven waifs stood in her upstairs hallway.

Five boys, two girls.  The waif closest to Lucy was a black girl, nine or so, her hair in two braids, and she had one hand at her mouth, teeth digging and chewing at her own fingertips, which were in ruined tatters.  The waif’s shoulders flinched inward as she bit through a part of her middle finger, a fresh trickle of blood running down to her elbow.  The ruined fingers of the girl’s other hand clutched at a dress with tiny flowers in a repeating pattern.

Give them nothing.

“Are we going to have a problem?” Lucy asked.

The waifs remained where they were.

“Is this entanglement or is it your way of whining at me?” Lucy asked.  “Because if it’s whining, get over it.”

The children didn’t respond or move.  Lucy navigated between them, until she reached the final one at the end of the hallway.  The boy stepped into her way.  He wore a constant, guileless smile, his hair a mess, and an unseasonable sweater with an argyle pattern that would have been better suited to an old man.  There was blood around his mouth, maybe two days old.

“Get out of my way,” Lucy said.

The boy didn’t.

“I will kick you down the stairs.  This is my home, calling Reagan was within the bounds of what I’m allowed and supposed to do.  Don’t try to intimidate me, and get the hell out of my way.”

Six sets of hands seized her from behind, grabbing at her arms, the back of her collar, the back of her top.  She could feel the fingers of the one waif at her arm, grooves cut into fingertip by teeth and filled in with scabs and scars, the edges rough.  Another had ragged long fingernails, painted canary yellow where the paint hadn’t chipped.  Others were just small hands, incredibly strong.

She staggered back, lost her footing, and fell, the long rug of the hallway making her slide more.  One of them pawed at the side of her head.  Twisting, she pulled her hands free of the waif’s hold, seized her necklace, and went for her ring.

The waifs were gone.  The singing had stopped.

Breathing hard, Lucy let go of the necklace.  She checked her arm where the fingernails and chewed up fingertips had scraped at her, and they were only red.  Her clothes… no mess, no stains, no bloody fingerprints.

Trembling, she picked herself up.  She fixed the rug in the hallway with a few kicks, and left her bag behind while she went back to the bathroom and checked herself over.  The fan had gotten most of the moisture, clearing up the middle portion of the mirror.  Her clothes were fine, but her hair…

Her hands shook as she fixed where bits had come loose.  Hairpins at the side of her head fixed it in place.

There was a dark shadow in the corner of the mirror’s reflection, where the fog hadn’t quite disappeared.  Child-shaped.

She hesitated, then wiped at it.  She had to double-check, looking behind her to see.  The little washcloth rack.

“Hey Choir,” she whispered.  “If you happen to be listening and watching… you should know you really don’t want to make an enemy of me.  I’d make it a point to get even.”

She squared herself away, then made her way downstairs, grabbing her bag.

“-contact Paul?” her Aunt Heather asked.

Lucy paused.

“No.”

“When you bought this house, the idea was that you both would pay for it.  I don’t think it would be out of bounds to ask him for some help.  Even a one-time payment…”

“I am not going to go to my ex with my hand out, Heather.  And I don’t think he’d respond.”

“Then maybe downsizing? There’s that apartment building downtown.”

“With concrete walls, concrete floor, and shady residents.  Those apartments are like tombs, Heather.  I’m not going to make Lucy downgrade her life.  I can get by.  It’s easier with Booker away for school.”

“You’re helping him with school, though.  With his place.”

“A little bit, as long as he shows me his budget.”

“Paul raised Booker for five years.  I think-”

“No, Heather.”

“-you don’t even have to have your hand out.  Just… float the subject?  You’re so clearly unhappy, Jas.  You don’t enjoy your work, you’re overworked, I don’t even remember the last time I’ve seen you properly smile.”

“I’ve-”

“That wasn’t forced.  You need more support.  I know your parents need more support than they can ever give, Barbie and Ran are too far away, I’m… I’ll back you up, whatever you need, whenever you need, like tonight, but I’m not good at taking care of my own life, so your mileage may vary.  That doesn’t leave many options.  Whatever we could say, Paul isn’t a bad-”

“Stop,” Lucy’s mom said, at the most recent mention of Paul.  “This isn’t the time or place for a Paul conversation.  I’m not even halfway into my first coffee, for one thing.”

“It doesn’t feel like it ever is, with you.”

“Lucy’s due to come downstairs any moment.”

Lucy waited a few seconds, then stepped around the corner.

“Hey!” Aunt Heather greeted her.  Aunt Heather was white, with her black hair in a boy’s style of cut, and a colorful dress with a bohemian pattern.  “Look at you!  You’re stunning!”

You’re family so you don’t count, Lucy thought, as she accepted her Aunt’s hug, hugging back.

She hadn’t missed that momentary look her mom had shot her aunt, either.  Like, I told you Lucy was going to turn up.

“It’s been too long.  A year?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy said.

“You’re taller.  You’re not even a kid anymore!  Look at you!  Spin around.”

“I’m not going to spin around,” Lucy said.

“You’re an actual young woman now.  That’s frightening.  Here I am, past my prime, with grey hairs.  How are you?”

“I’m… there’s a lot going on, with my friends.”

“I brought donuts and cider.”

“Thank you.  Are you staying?” Lucy asked, then reconsidered.  “Sorry, didn’t mean to make it sound like I didn’t want you to.  It’d be cool if you stayed.”

“She was passing through,” Lucy’s mom said.  “But I had a bit of work I was considering, and we thought we’d ask you.  You have options and it’s up to you.”

Lucy nodded, getting a donut.

“I could do these contracts, but it would be two tonight and one tomorrow, in the direction of Tripoli.  It’s an overnight trip.  Heather said she’d be happy to watch you overnight.”

“We could hang out, watch a movie your mom wouldn’t let you watch-”

Her mother cleared her throat.

“Paint our nails, gossip…”

“Do people actually do that in real life?” Lucy asked.

“I’m getting resistance on both sides.  I can take a cue.  Not that, then.”

“Option two would be for you to stay over at Verona’s or something,” her mom said.

Lucy made a face.

“That bad?” her mom asked.

“The last time I went over, he was wanting to put up this stone wall around the garden.  He recruited me to help.”

“I wish he’d ask before doing something like that.  It’s a parent’s job to balance the work and play for their own kids, and that’s hard enough with four teachers each assigning their own homework without consulting one another.”

“He said something like ‘it’s just for five seconds’, then before we were done one chore, he was asking us to take another five seconds to do something else, and then after doing that a few times he’d ask why the first chore wasn’t done.”

“Sounds like a boss I had when I was Booker’s age.  Did he help out, or was he giving orders?” Aunt Heather asked.

“He helped out some, I guess?” Lucy asked, shrugging.  “He gets headaches if he exerts himself too much, he says.  I never really said anything to him or Verona about it, but I stopped sleeping over after that.  I mostly try to go over if he’s not going to be there.”

“Okay.  Communicate those things to me more, if you can?”

Lucy shrugged, nodding, while eating her donut.

“What about Avery?” her mom asked.

“Five kids, with three girls in one room,” Lucy said, her mouth partially full, her hand covering it so nobody had to see.  “Her grandfather stays in a room on the ground floor.”

“Well, option three is I skip the job.  Easy enough,” her mom said.

“Actually, can we mix one and two?” Lucy asked.  “Not that I don’t love spending time with you, Auntie, but I might be doing stuff with my friends.”

“I was thinking about seeing a friend on the return trip,” her Aunt said.  “I was wondering how to wedge it in.  If my afternoon is free and I’m staying overnight, that could work out nicely.”

“Make sure the house doesn’t burn down, take my teenager to the hospital in the event that she needs it -gosh I hope not- see that she’s fed, and stay available?”

“Plus a late night, mom-approved movie?” her Aunt asked Lucy.

“Sounds cool,” Lucy said.

“Yes?” her mom asked her.  On getting a nod, turned to her Aunt, “Yes?”

“Great.”

“Yes, great, okay.  I’ve got to make some calls to schedule, then.  Heather, could you take her to school?  It’d be a huge help.”

“Love to.”

“Oh!” Lucy spoke up, before her mom left the room.  “About the phone.  I made a call just now, and I realized it might be long-distance.  To a classmate, about this project Avery, Verona and I are working on, but I realized she’s near Toronto.  You can take it out of my allowance if you want.”

“Was it important?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Then don’t worry about it.  Thank you for telling me.  Have a good day at school- Oh!  I meant to check up with you about Mr. Bader.”

“He’s been pretty quiet since you talked to him.”

“Good, okay.  Where’s my phone?”

Lucy’s mother made her way into the living room.

“Brought you a gift,” Lucy’s Aunt Heather said.  She pulled back a chair from the far side of the little island in the middle of the kitchen, and lifted up a plant.  The leaves were very large and house-plant-y, but the top was a partially open flower of purple leaves.  It sat in a simple white pot.

“Thank you,” Lucy said, taking it.  “You didn’t have to.  It’s not even a holiday.”

“I didn’t know what to get, but I got your mom some flowers to put outside and I saw it while I was there.  Go take it to your room, and go check the little card.”

Lucy hurried to the task, hesitating only at the bend in the stairs to the upstairs hallway, where the waifs had been.  She set the plant on her bedside table, by the alarm clock, and checked the card.  It was a tiny thing, and it had a bit of string tying it shut.  When she undid it, a square of folded-up money dropped into the dirt of the plant.  Fifty bucks. The card itself just had a little heart on it.

She pocketed it, then jogged back down the stairs to the kitchen, looking for her aunt.

“…wound a little tight.”

“She’s fine, Heather.  She gets good grades, she has good friends.  She’s genuinely good, to the point that I trust her to tell me if there’s something she needs or needs to get off her chest.  She’s also keenly aware of everything that goes on around her, and I learned that the hard way.  So please, if you have anything negative to say, or anything sensitive to say, I’d thank you to hold your tongue if she’s even in the general vicinity, or could be in the vicinity.  Really.”

“I promise you, Jas, I didn’t mean it even slightly in a bad way.  I meant it only in a worried way.  You too, with your work, your hobbies, your love life.”

“Enough, please.  I know you mean well, but- Yes!  hello!”

Lucy’s mom changed her tone, going full business mode.

Lucy’s Aunt emerged from the living room, and stopped a little short at seeing Lucy there.

“Thank you,” Lucy said, getting her stuff together, her bag back on.  “For the plant, and the card.”

“I wasn’t sure if the plant would hit the mark, so I put in the little extra to break even.  Spend it on something fun, okay?”

Lucy nodded, smiling.

“All set to go?  I didn’t think you’d get ready so fast, but I guess you were mostly ready by the time you came downstairs.”

“All set.”

They got everything together, Lucy grabbing a proper umbrella and flipping her hood up to further protect her hair.  Her aunt opened the door.

Outside, the rain was coming down in buckets.  The temperature was such that it felt like the rain was hitting places where the heat had settled, kicking the heat upwards instead of cooling things off.  The bugs were out in full.

Gross.

“You’re so well put together,” her Aunt said.  “Back when I was your age… I should show you pictures one day.  Different times for teenage girls, back then.”

“You’re not that old.”

“Hey.  I have some grey hairs I have to dye.  I’m getting there.  We didn’t have videos that talked about hair and makeup, or websites that talked about fashion.  We had to get our information from magazines, sharing them around.  I got it in my head to do up my hair like this punk girl from this eighties television show, and… tragedy ensued.  I had hair like a porcupine, with black lipstick, a choker, and a strapless top I thought was the sexiest thing, and it was really the opposite.  I wasn’t even the only walking train wreck, but… I envy your generation so much.”

Lucy smiled.  “I really want to see the pictures now.”

“Your dad had his moments too.  Barbie, bless her heart, had no idea how to cut his hair.”

Lucy smiled, folding up her umbrella before ducking out of the rain and sticking her head into her aunt’s car.  She couldn’t really get in, though.  The foot area in front of the passenger seat was filled with crap.  Her Aunt stuffed a bunch of garbage into a plastic bag, and threw the rest into the back seat.

Lucy wouldn’t say it out loud, but she wasn’t positive her aunt had stopped being a walking train wreck.

She still loved her.

“There,” her aunt said.

Lucy climbed in, putting her bag in her lap.

“I should ask, is it a problem, if I mention your dad like that?”

Lucy shook her head.  “No.  It’s nice, hearing things.  I’d like to see pictures of him too.”

Her aunt started up the car.  They pulled out.  “I don’t know where the line is.  I’d ask your mom, but she’s hard to communicate with sometimes.”

“It’s okay.  You can ask me.  Or say stuff.  Like if you’re worried I’m a little tightly wound…”

“Oh,” her Aunt said.  “You heard that.”

“You’ll want to go over the bridge,” Lucy said.  “Left.  And yeah.  About Paul, too.”

“I think, um,” her aunt seemed to be mentally stumbling.  “Getting into that would be one of the few things that would make your mother absolutely furious with me.”

“Nobody’s ever really explained it.”

“I would, but I know your Uncle Martie said something to Booker, once.  It wasn’t even that clear, but I thought your mother would spit fire, she was so mad.  I don’t want to be on your mother’s bad side.”

The car cut through a puddle, splashing the railing of the bridge.  Just over there, on the other side of the road, they’d talked to Miss yesterday.

“Go left,” Lucy said.  “There’s often a lineup.  You can drop me off at the foot of the hill if that makes it easier.”

“I have no problem taking you to the door.”

“Mm.”

There were a bunch of kids out, Lucy saw, making their slow way to school.

There were kids standing still, in the rain, no hoods or umbrellas.  They remained where they were, staring.  Watching her.  Some with mouths agape.  Some with broken teeth, or chewed lips, or blood on their faces that the rain didn’t wash away.  Kids on their way to school weaved through and past them.

“Weather’s supposed to zig-zag this week.  I was joking with your mom that I wasn’t sure if you should come downstairs in layers, a t-shirt and shorts, a winter coat or a swimsuit.”

“Ha.”

They reached the base of the hill.  There were already some cars lined up.

“Are you wound up?” her Aunt asked.  “I’d try to find a good way of asking, but I’m the kind of person who sticks her foot in her mouth, no matter what.”

“It’s okay.  I’d rather people were honest.  I’d rather they communicate.  I’m… you’re not wrong.”

“Why?  What’s going on?”

“Lots of stuff.  I think it’s okay though,” Lucy said, quiet.

There were some Waifs out on the sidewalk, their heads turning as the car crawled forward.

“Is it?”

“I think I have to be prepared.  I have to be on guard.”

“Why?”

“I dunno.  Lots of stuff, but I can never know for sure.  Did my mom tell you about the Mr. Bader stuff?”

“Briefly.”

“My gym teacher has been hounding me.  And it’s like… was it something I did or said, that put me in his bad books without me knowing?  Or is it that I’m the easiest face to pick out of the rest of the class, when it comes to calling fouls or picking someone that isn’t running fast enough?  And like, that’d be him doing it by accident, maybe, or unconsciously.  Or is he a hateful prick, and the stuff he’s doing is just the tip of a huge iceberg of prick, in which case I might need to be careful about what he’d say or do if he thought he could get away with it?”

“Oh, honey.”

“My homeroom teacher hasn’t said or done anything, but his tone of voice is sometimes like… condescending?  Or like he speaks a little slower to me.  And I don’t know if I’m imagining it, because he’s really nice most of the time, and maybe he talks to every student like that when he’s one-on-one with them.  And I know he taught Booker and Booker wasn’t a great student.  Don’t tell my mom about this, by the way.”

“I imagine she knows.  She did say you’re very aware of what goes on around you.  I don’t know what you could do about it, now that you’ve noticed.”

“If I noticed,” Lucy said.  She muttered, “I dunno.  There’s other stuff, not even related to all of that.”

“Like?”

Lucy considered telling her aunt about the Choir, and the Carmine Beast, and everything else.

What a mess that would be.

She scanned the crowd on the sidewalk and in front of the school, as students rushed out of the rain and in the doors.  It was clearing the way in faster than usual.  No Choir.

This was going to be a long day.

“My class did a popularity contest type thing.  Boys rating girls and girls rating boys.”

“Your mom mentioned that.”

“Oh, did she?” Lucy asked, raising her eyebrows.  “Really?  Because I didn’t tell her.”

“Ah.  She wasn’t supposed to know.  There’s my foot, inserted neatly into my mouth.”

“Verona,” Lucy said, her eyes narrowing a bit.  “Had to be Verona.”

“Bad result?” her aunt asked.

“Rock bottom,” Lucy muttered.

“I can’t believe that.”

Lucy shrugged.

“This isn’t me being nice, or me trying to be the cool aunt, but of all my nieces and nephews, and all the kids my friends have, you’re number one or number two, not even just in the looks department.  Really.  If I had to give a recommendation to a… thirteen?”

“Thirteen,” Lucy confirmed.

“A thirteen year old boy.  I’d tell him to go say hi to that girl.  That’s Lucy Ellingson.  She’s super.”

“The boys in my class don’t think so,” Lucy said, looking out the window.  “But that’s on them.  All I can do is try and be ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“All of it.  The disappointments, the crappiness, the… other stuff.”

The scary stuff.

Still no Hungry Choir out there.

“I wish I had better advice for you, I’d say more but we’re here and I don’t want to hold up traffic,” her aunt said.  “I’ll think on it, so we can talk it over tonight.  At dinner or before our movie.”

The car pulled up in front of the school.

“It’s okay if you can’t, Aunt Heather,” Lucy said, opening her door.  The warm, wet air blasted her in the face.  “I’ve been thinking about it for years, now, and I haven’t been able to figure out what to do.”

“Love you, kid,” her aunt said.

“Love you too, Auntie H.” She stuck her umbrella out and unfolded it.

“Sorry if I added to that in even a small way, with my comment earlier.”

Lucy shook her head, gave her Aunt a quick smile to signal that everything was okay, and ducked out into the rain, managing umbrella, bag, and the closing of the car door.

It wasn’t possible to wait outside for Verona or Avery, with the weather, and visibility was crap, too.

She went inside, dropped off stuff at her locker, and headed to the classroom, settling in at her seat, back row, furthest from the door, closest to the window.  She busied herself with her phone for the ten or fifteen minutes it would take everyone to show up.  The rain drummed against the glass.

Her homeroom teacher entered, smiled at her and a couple of the other students in turn, then set about unpacking his materials for the day.

“The Hungry Choir says hi, I guess,” Verona said, as she arrived.

Lucy looked up from her phone.

“There were two outside the school.  Are they trying to intimidate us before tomorrow night?  It’s not like we have an easy way to get to the Toronto area.”

“I called Reagan.  I told her about the way to challenge cheating.  They got peeved.”

“Do you think they’re concerned because they are cheating?” Verona asked.

Lucy shrugged.  “They grabbed me, even.”

“So what does it mean?” Verona asked.

“I don’t know.  But… makes me think.  What if that’s not the way to beat them, but it gets us closer to the way?  Like… imagine we challenged them to a competition, where we had to defeat them or else?  And then we called them cheats and forced them to show us how to defeat them?”

Verona smiled.  “There’s a lot of holes in that plan.”

“I know, but… thinking.”

“Like, for one thing, challenging the Choir to a game when they are a game feels like a losing proposition.  Especially if their existence is on the line.”

“I’m just saying.”

“It’s cool that you’re thinking along those lines, though,” Verona said.

“I’m ticked.  They came after me, they wanted to scare me, and my response to that is I want to get them before they can ever get me.”

“We can keep looking for ways,” Verona said.

“I’m so not in the mood for much of anything right now,” Lucy said.  “If a kid of the right age on the stairwell looks at me funny, I might reflex-kick them down the stairs, thinking they’re a waif.”

Verona laughed.

“I’m not even sure I’m joking.  I swear, if Mr. Bader rides my ass, or anyone pushes me today, I’m going to flip.”

“You said that yesterday, I think.  It’s still a thing today?”

“Yeah,” Lucy muttered.

The warning bell went off.  More of the class was filing in.  Mr. Sitton stood by the door, mop in hand, as the class tracked in wet and dirt.  Avery was one of the last in.  “Books open!” their homeroom teacher called out, as he mopped the doorway.  “Quiet down!”

“What a crummy morning.  I hope it’s not like this all day,” Avery said.  Her hair was wet, but she wasn’t soaked through.  Probably she had gotten a ride and gotten this wet between the car and the front door of the school.

“I was thinking we’d take a brief break from Practice stuff,” Lucy murmured.

“What!?” Verona asked.

“I said it before.  I’m not in the mood for much of anything.”

“I didn’t think you meant this stuff.”

“It’s fine by me either way, but I gotta go to my locker though,” Avery said.  “Just saying so you don’t wonder where I ran off to.  Be right back.”

“Why?” Verona asked Lucy, as Avery ducked past Mr. Sitton, who put his hands on his hips.

“I want to touch base, compare notes.  Mentally recover.  We should have thought things out more before the Faerie stuff, and we should think things out more now that we’re mostly through the Faerie stuff.  Consider the traps and stuff.”

“You haven’t even gotten your thing,” Verona said.

Avery returned.  The bell rang.

“Just in under the wire,” Verona murmured, as Avery took her seat.

Avery got her stuff out, explaining, “Kerry couldn’t find her rain boots and she has an outdoor field trip.  Everyone in the family was working together to find them.  They were in toy bin, from when she was dressing up her big stuffed animals.  Dad was talking about running to the store to buy some and dropping them off school, if we couldn’t find them.”

“Quiet, please!” Mr. Sitton instructed.

“Pam looks like she’s in a good mood,” Verona said, to Avery.

Verona was smiling more than Avery, as Avery looked.

Lucy looked between the two girls.

“What did you do?” Lucy asked.  There were still murmurs across the class.

“Quiet!” Mr. Sitton said, with less patience than before.

“Tell you at lunch,” Verona said.

Verona was too cavalier and happy about this, Avery too clearly not happy…

Aw no, Lucy thought.  She bit her lip, as the class went quiet, grabbing her math book from her bag.

What did you two do last night with the Faerie?

◬

“What!?” Lucy asked.

She’d had to pretty much strongarm the pair into going out at lunch, because the lunch room was too crowded for a proper conversation.  Now they stood beneath the big tree at the foot of the hill west of the school.  Lucy kept her umbrella and hood up.

“I don’t know why you’re getting so intense about this,” Verona said.

“Really?” Lucy asked.  “Have you thought about it for five seconds?  No, wait, I’m actually getting more upset about this as I say this, because I’m imagining that you didn’t take five seconds to stop and think about what you were doing.”

Avery waved away some bugs, before putting her hands in her pockets.

Neither of the two really answered Lucy, except in body language and things unsaid.

“Yeah,” Lucy said.  “When you said you were going to try out being a boy, I thought, okay.  Sure, explore you.  Give peeing while standing up a try.  Try on some clothes.  I don’t really get that whole thing with different genders and non-genders, but if you try being a boy and decide it’s a sometimes thing or an always thing, cool.  My mom says it’s our job as teenagers to figure out who we are.  And if you figure that out with the help of the Faerie, great.”

“It was deeply uncomfortable.  I figured out what I’m not, more than anything,” Avery said.

“Right?  If it’s just that, great.  Watch out for the traps, but great.  Verona was going to be there to give you a swift kick in the ass to break the glamour, maybe.  I could wait a little nervously for the phone call where you say everything turned out fine, but yeah.  But you went straight for Pam?”

“I didn’t go ‘straight for Pam’, like you’re making it sound.  I went for Pam,” Avery said.  “And I did think about it, I asked myself what Maricica wanted, and what I could do that might go against that.  So I thought I’d do something nice for Pam, as minor as it was.”

“And kiss her?”

“No!”

“You didn’t kiss her?”

“I did but- that wasn’t it, that wasn’t why,” Avery said, anxious.  Rain dripped from the hood of her raincoat.  “She’s always been so hard on herself, she doesn’t think she’s pretty, and she was hard on herself when I talked to her.  Like she’d be more likely to believe someone would be pranking her than be genuinely interested in her.  I always hated that I didn’t tell her she was pretty, that one time I heard her dumping on herself.  I thought I’d do that.”

“Did you want to kiss her?  Because I’m not sure there isn’t something unconscious here, and…” Lucy trailed off, shaking her head.

“I wanted- yes but no.”

“Explain,” Lucy pressed.

Verona stepped forward, hand up, “Maybe back off just-”

“I’m mad at you too!  I’m getting to you in a second!” Lucy raised her voice.  “Don’t tell me to back off!”

“Hey!” The voice was distant.

The three of them turned.

It was Jeremy from their class, a little way up the hill.  He wore a yellow raincoat.

“Everything okay?” he called down.

“Go away, Jeremy!” Lucy called up.

“Talking some stuff out,” Verona added.

Lucy made a hand gesture, dismissing the boy.  Jeremy headed back in the direction of the school.

“I did want to kiss her, and I told her that, but… it wasn’t why I went to find her, and when she first asked if she could, I didn’t want to.  I didn’t want to the second time either, exactly.  Not while I was wearing a different face and using a different voice.”

“And essentially lying to her.  Using knowledge of her from elsewhere-”

“I don’t think I did.  I acted mostly in the moment.  I looked for my chance to tell her she was pretty.  I bought her ice cream.  I kissed her because I thought it was the only way she’d believe what I’d said about her.  With how much the body and face I was wearing felt weird, it felt more like a sacrifice than a cool moment.”

“But it was cool, wasn’t it?” Verona pressed. “You seemed happy.”

“I was happy that she was happy.  I… it was nice but it was mixed.  I dunno.  It didn’t feel great, long-term, but I made her happy and that was what mattered in the end, right?  I told her she wouldn’t see that face around again, I didn’t get her expectations up, I didn’t want her to pine or whatever.”

“Would you be okay if someone did that to you?” Lucy asked.  “If Jeremy turned out to be a practitioner and turned into a girl, kissed you, and you found out?”

“I don’t know,” Avery said, uncomfortable.  “It doesn’t matter.  I’m not doing it again.  And again, the kiss wasn’t the point.”

“The kiss happened,’ Lucy pressed, stepping a bit closer.  “I’m going to do that thing again, where I pull on my own experiences, and I need you to not act like I’m talking down to you or making you out to be a child version of me, okay?  Because I might flip out on you.”

Avery nodded, looking glum.

“The shitty thing about people is that they’re going to judge you by what you do, not by what you intended.  And I’ve had to deal with that a lot.  And that’s pretty usual.  But when you’re slapped with the label of being an outsider, they’re going to flip it around on you when it’s inconvenient.  They’re going to make their assumptions about what you intended.  People are going to find ways to make you the bad guy.  You don’t get the luxury of meaning well, and I think that’s part of growing up.”  Lucy saw Avery open her mouth and cut in, “I say that as someone who’s growing up beside you.”

Avery shut her mouth and nodded.

“Verona,” Lucy said, turning.  “The whole idea of at least two of us agreeing on something is that you were supposed to watch over her.”

“Um,” Avery said.  “For what it’s worth, Verona kind of did?  She was quizzing the Faerie, being really strict about definitions.  Even said she was channeling you or something, making up for the fact that you couldn’t be there, in getting permission to kick the Faerie’s ass, if it was needed.”

“For just that night,” Verona said.

“Why does that make me even more upset with you, Ronnie?” Lucy asked, exasperated.  She hated feeling this way.  Frustrated.  Angry.  She was trying to find the words to get these two on the right page, at the same time she was trying to figure out just why it bothered her so much.

“Maybe you want to be angry, and no matter what I say, you’re going to get upset?” Verona asked, sounding innocent.

Lucy narrowed her eyes.  “Really?”

“Just saying.”

“You really want to do that?  You want to go there?” Lucy asked.  She raised a hand and it was shaking.  She transferred her umbrella to the other hand, but the hand she’d just freed up wasn’t much better.

Verona looked at it.

“Revising my stance and statement,” Verona said, quietly.  “I didn’t realize this bothered you this much.  I get that you think I messed up and I’m not sure why or how.  I’m listening.  What was I supposed to do?”

“More!  Do more!” Lucy raised her voice.  “Do you think this is fun?  No, don’t answer that.  I’ll say it different.  Do you think this is fun for me?”

“We had a good time experimenting with the ring and stuff at your place.”

“And after?  With the Faerie?  With the Choir?” Lucy asked.  She held her umbrella with both hands, so she didn’t have to worry about her hands shaking.  “Come on, Verona.  How do you think I felt holding you while you were a fucking mink?  Did you think maybe I was standing there, terrified you were never going to go back to normal?  That I was wondering what I was supposed to do about this creepy Faerie woman that had just transformed my best friend, when a warrior Faerie couldn’t even seem to scratch her?  What do I do except maybe lose a lifelong friendship?”

“Are we not supposed to have fun?  She said it would break, I was me, underneath it.”

“Maybe-” Lucy started, and she had to gulp in a breath before continuing.  “Maybe not so much fun with the Faerie that – god do I miss hyperbole- but how many people now have said the Faerie are bad news?  Including the damn Faerie themselves!?  Maybe save the ‘fun’ for other times and places!?”

“‘Kay,” Verona said, one note.  “Sorry I scared you.  Sorry I didn’t think.”

“Do you know what scares me most?” Lucy asked.  “It’s not the creepy children that are showing up, or the crotchety old forsworn dude, or even being held at freaking gunpoint.  It’s the idea that this will be it for the next however many years we’re alive and together.  Me, being the level-headed one, while the two of you fuck around.  Cleaning up messes, or worse, that one of you will do something and I’d regret it the rest of my life, that I wasn’t paying enough attention or steering you in the right directions.  That I could be old and still kicking myself every single day because I didn’t protect my best friend from herself!  Or protect someone from being hurt by you, Avery!”

Verona swallowed hard.

“I wouldn’t hurt someone,” Avery said.

“No?” Lucy asked.  “No, really?  Because I can think of a few ways you’ve opened that door.  You said she wouldn’t see that face around anymore.  But is it maybe possible the Faerie was spying on you and saw the face?  That she might dress up as that boy, or dress someone else up as him, and mislead Pam?”

“I-” Avery said.

“Yeah,” Lucy hissed out the word.  “Miss called it entanglement, right?  With the Choir?  And she suggested the Faerie were worse and more subtle.  If you had a spiderweb sticking to your hand, and you touched Pam… don’t you think that’s maybe enough?”

“The Faerie was there, watching,” Verona said.  “With me.”

If there was anything remotely good about this situation, it was seeing Avery go visibly pale at that.

Yeah.  Reality check.

“What if she finds out?” Lucy asked.  “It was all a lie, you were in disguise, right?  She’d go from feeling good today to being devastated, confused, and maybe even losing… whatever it was, that keeps mortals safe and away from Others.  And you two are putting me in the situation of having to think of this?  Really?”

“You’re good at it,” Verona said.

“Don’t be freaking irreverent with me,” Lucy said, angry, shaking her head.  To Avery, she said, “You said Verona was good and on the ball for one part of one conversation, but where does that leave me?  You guys get to have your fun, but what do I get?  What release or relief or casual fuckups do I get to have?  Did you think that maybe I want to cut loose, but I can’t because I have to watch over you two?  Did you think maybe, just maybe, I’d appreciate having either of you step in and offer to kick asses, or just give me a bit of backup?”

The two girls were silent.  The rain kept pouring down.

“I’m more scared for you two than I am of the monsters, and the monsters are scary.  I need you two to step it up.  Verona… I’m struggling to convey this…”

Verona nodded, shrugging at the same time.

Shutting down.

“I know it’s not your whole deal here, what I’m asking of you.  You probably feel like I sound like your dad or whatever.  But we’re in this.  I don’t think there’s a good way to get out of it.  You told me once that you never wanted to be even a bit in debt, because you’ve seen too many people miserable with it.  We’re in debt, so to speak, okay?  We signed onto this, and they get some say over what we do and how, until we solve the mystery.  Maybe even after.  I want to be clear of that.  I want to deal with the living ritual bullshit that captured our classmate.  I need you to be that Verona that’s clever and on the ball and focused and offering backup all the time.  At least around the Others.”

Verona looked away.

“Verona,” Lucy said.

Her friend met her eyes.

“I invite you over all the time, and I don’t go over much.  My aunt was telling my mom that my mom supports me, supports Booker, goes the extra mile constantly.  I know my mom backs up her friends and invites them over for wine and a cry, or goes to help one friend with a sick kid.  But then my aunt runs down the list of all the people who back my mom up in turn and…”

Lucy shrugged.

“…Nobody.  It came down to Paul as a serious consideration.”

Verona nodded.

“I feel like that’s where I’m at.”

“Is that your dad?” Avery asked.

“No.  My dad died when I was little,” Lucy said.  “He got Hep A from working elbow to elbow with a coworker, who got it from animals.  He went to the doctor a couple of times, and they didn’t realize he was suffering from liver failure.  My mom was away at nursing school.  My big brother Booker found him.”

“Oh,” Avery said.  “Sorry.”

Lucy shrugged.

“I’m going to go,” Verona said, jerking her thumb back at the school.  She was already walking.  “Sorry.”

“Ronnie.”

Verona stopped.

“Give me something?” Lucy asked.  “Tell me I didn’t just make a fool of myself for nothing.”

“You didn’t make a fool of yourself,” Avery said.  “I feel like the ass, here.”

“Just gotta think,” Verona said.  “See if I can’t figure out what to do or how.”

Lucy spread her arms a bit.

“I am sorry,” Verona said.  “I don’t like letting you down.  You’re my favorite person.  I just gotta think about this, consider what you said, see if I can’t make it up to you.”

“Being here and not running away would be a start.”

“Gimme a bit?” Verona asked, rocking back a bit, taking a step as she said it.  “You said you didn’t want to do practice stuff today.  So for today, let me give this a hard think.  Then I want to come back and be the backup you need.”

“So long as you’re not going to Others to make yourself into that Verona.  No practice?”

“Nah.  No Faerie or anything.  I was thinking I’d skip this afternoon’s classes and use connection blocks to ensure I wasn’t bothered.”

“You used a connection blocker yesterday, in Ms. Hardy’s class.  I’m not saying you can’t or shouldn’t, but… be aware?”

Verona nodded.

“Okay,” Lucy said.

Verona headed back toward the school.

Lucy looked at Avery.  “I don’t know you as well.  So I don’t know what to say, that I haven’t already covered.”

“I messed up,” Avery said.  “I thought I was going down a different route than what the Faerie wanted.”

“No,” Lucy said.  “Because now you’ve got a hard choice to make.  I’d even say she’s cornering you.”

“What have I walked into?” Avery asked, barely audible.

“For one thing, you’ve tipped her off about Pam, if she didn’t already know.  Pam’s at risk of being entangled.  So the dumb, selfish move is that you could carry on, and Pam becomes something she can use against you.  I already covered some of the ways how.  Maybe she has to use it against you, if that’s what a Faerie has to do.”

“Or?” Avery asked.

“Or you solve the entanglement the way Miss told you to,” Lucy said.

Avery shook her head.

“Distance,” Lucy added, in response to that sentence Avery hadn’t spoken.  The question she hadn’t asked.  “Walk away.  Leave no meaningful connection to Pam.  Trust Verona and I to handle the worst case scenarios, if something happens to Pam, but you should stay clear.  Best case scenario, you did your good deed, and you both go in different directions.”

“You said I was cornered.”

“Oh, you were and are,” Lucy said.  She drew in a deep breath.  “You have to cut off a connection.  Someone that made your days brighter and made your heart warm.  And by doing that, you become a little bit more Other, don’t you?  A little more like Alpeana, maybe, who was cut off from her family.  Or the possible ways of becoming Faerie that Guilherme went over.  It doesn’t seem like you become Other as long as you’re tightly enmeshed with your family, friends, or neighbors… or your crushes.”

Avery turned, looking back toward the school.  Verona was still trudging up the hill.

“It just occurred to me,” Avery said, her back to Lucy, a bit of emotion in her voice, “that we have what?  Ten teachers?  People who’ll go over the Practice and the different places and the types of Other, and who’ll hand us gifts.  But there’s nobody really to go to for advice on this stuff.  We can’t trust any of them.”

“No,” Lucy said.  “Just each other, at least for now.”

“Which is why you want us as your backup.”

“Please,” Lucy said.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, or what role I’m supposed to fill.  I’m not sure of much at all.  I really did walk away from that meeting with Pam thinking I’d done something good, and I thought it was selfless, because I gave her my first kiss in a way that ruined it a bit for me, but it made her happier and stronger.”

“I think, um,” Lucy said.  “If you’re starting out with deception… it’s not going anywhere great.”

“I feel a little sick.”

“Good.  Use it.”

“I guess… how do I avoid getting entangled more?”

“You step back.  Be careful.  Think hard.  Maybe we get three-way consensus before any Faerie stuff.”

Avery nodded.

“If she says there’s nobody for you in Kennet, maybe the answer isn’t to challenge that or immediately ask if you can meet one of these people that aren’t for you, but to look elsewhere.”

“Long distance relationships?”

Lucy shrugged.

Avery nodded to herself, then made a face.  “Okay.  Alright.  Shit.  Ugh.  But okay.  I do feel bad for not watching out more.  I want to make it up to you, but I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t want to sound too much like a bitch,” Lucy said.  “But if you actually ask me to tell you what to do to make it up to me, and make that my burden or job, on top of everything, I might throw you in the nearest puddle.  I need you to put in that effort of figuring out.  Like I think Verona might be doing.”

Avery sighed.  “Is she going to be okay?”

“She does this, when things get tough.  Sometimes it’s a positive step away.  Sometimes she forgets stuff ever happens.  If Verona gave me permission, I could tell you what happened on her dad’s birthday last year, but I’m genuinely unsure if she even remembers it happened, or if she avoids the memory.”

“I really don’t know the deal with her dad.  But now I’m afraid to ask, after stepping on your toes about yours.”

“Nah.  He’s… you know that type of kid, who asks you to play a game he made up, and changes the rules when he’s losing, and throws tantrums, and makes everything about him?”

“Kinda.”

“Imagine that kid grown up, and he’s got a kid who kind of has to do what he says.”

“Oh.  Still not sure I get it.”

“It becomes clear once you meet the guy.  Like, I know I just said that I do a lot of the inviting over, and Verona doesn’t return the favor, but I don’t like going over because he’s there.”

Avery looked back in the direction of the school.

“Do you want to come over after school?” Avery asked.

Not especially, Lucy thought.  Her aunt was at her place, and she was actually looking forward to spending time with her.

But… she couldn’t slap away a hand that was extended like this.

“Sure.”

◬

“Who is even this guy?” Sheridan asked.

“What are you, four?” Lucy asked.

“What?” Sheridan asked, bewildered.

“Watch for a few more minutes and figure it out, or ask during the commercial,” Lucy cut in.  “Do you see your parents interrupting every few seconds?  Grow up.”

“Wow, Ave,” Sheridan said.  “Love your friend.  What a guest to bring over.”

“Try getting on my bad side,” Lucy said.

They were sitting around a dining room table, and even though the length of the table was pretty good, the amount of food ate up a lot of real estate, and the chairs were situated in a way that made it hard not to bump elbows.

Just being in the room with all these relatively strange people and the overlapping conversation was enough to get her heart rate up.  Then there was the combative approach the other kids had taken when Lucy and Avery had commented that they’d rather watch a show, and Lucy was stepping up to the plate on that as a matter of personal principle.  Little Kerry was just to Lucy’s right, doing a very bad job of reaching over her plate to hold a full glass.  Lucy was convinced that glass was going to tip over by the end of dinner.  Avery’s ‘grumble’ was getting help eating from Avery’s mom, and he kept making little choking sounds while swallowing.

Which would have been a lot, in sum total, but the hot food and the press of bodies made the humid room even muggier.

“Anyone want another burger?” Avery’s dad asked.  “Lucy?”

“No thank you.  It was good,” Lucy said.

“Me,” Rowan said.  “Thanks.”

Having to answer questions and get involved in conversations while keeping track of the television was another thing.

How did Avery have the energy for this and have the energy to do after school activities?

“I don’t understand the plot.  We couldn’t have watched Singfest Canada?” Sheridan asked.

“Yeah!” Kerry piped up.

“Singing’s been ruined for me,” Avery said.

“Wholeheartedly agreed.”

“It’s the commercial break,” Sheridan said.  “We could switch the channel over for a few minutes.”

“I know how that goes,” Avery said.  “You switch it and then you want to watch to the end of that performance, and hear the judging.”

“That’s just underhanded,” Lucy said.

“Then can someone give a recap of what’s happened so far this episode?  Because I think it expects you to watch the rest of the season,” Sheridan said.  “And if nobody understands what’s going on I don’t see why we’re watching it.”

“Yeah!” Kerry chimed in.

“I’m admittedly a little lost,” Avery’s dad said, from the back door.  It was open, which was letting a few bugs in.  The barbecue smoked in the background.

“It would be easier to follow if certain sixteen year old girls weren’t being rude and constantly interrupting it,” Lucy said, looking at Sheridan.

“I think you’re the one that’s being rude, coming into our home as a guest and being confrontational.”

“I’m responding to you.  Is that being confrontational?”

“That’s the definition of confrontational,” Sheridan said.

“Please, Sheridan,” Avery’s mom said.  “Dial it back, be nice.”

Sheridan protested, “Every day, right after school, Kerry gets the TV and watches her cartoons, then Declan has the TV and plays his games until six, when Grumble watches the six o’clock news, and then Declan plays more if there’s time for dinner.  Can’t this show be my thing?” Sheridan asked.

“And when do I get my thing?” Avery asked.

Declan piped up, “When you get taste and pick something at least half the people here can watch and understand.”

“I agree with Dec for once,” Sheridan said.

“Okay!”  Avery’s dad said.  “Okay.  Please.”

Avery’s mom had her fingers at her temples.

“We need some civility here, please.  I think it is entirely fair that a guest can pick what we watch when they come over,” Avery’s dad said.

“I’m going to bring over my friends every day,” Declan said.

“No you’re not,” Avery’s mom said.

“Within reason,” Avery’s dad said.

Kerry, sitting in a booster seat just to Lucy’s right, was slowly extending a hand toward the side of Lucy’s head.  The girl froze as Lucy looked at her.

Lucy, her hands still not entirely clean from finishing her burger, reached over with both hands, toward Kerry’s head.  Kerry looked confused, then disconcerted, shrinking back down and away.

Lucy stopped before actually making contact, and used a napkin to wipe at her fingers.

“Listen, since it seems like most of you have finished eating, and the rain has mostly let up, how about we make things in here a little more sane?  We need things from the store, and if I can get some volunteers, you can use the extra to buy ice cream bars.”

“Yes!  Me!” Declan said.

Avery looked at Lucy, then raised her hand.

“With Avery and Lucy going, I’m hearing two people who are out of our hair.  Do I hear three?  Coalition of three Kellys and guests?  You get enough to buy extra treats.  Three people, for some cash, free selection of junk food…”

“I don’t want to go with Avery and her friend,” Declan said.

“Still hearing two.  Two people, going once… going twice…”

“I want to watch my show,” Sheridan said.

“Me too,” Declan said.

“Two people,” Avery’s dad said, getting his wallet out.  “Thank you.”

“And we can change the channel,” Sheridan said, going for the remote.

Lucy walked around one end of the table.  Avery took the harder route, around the head of the table, hugging her grandfather and getting the money from her dad before finding her way around.  Sheridan backed her chair up an inch or two to get in Avery’s way.

“You’re more childish than some of the actual children at the table,” Lucy said.

“And you’re a jerk.”

“Not so much of a jerk right now as I am a bad influence,” Lucy said.

“What?” Sheridan asked.

Lucy discreetly pointed toward the pitcher of water with ice cubes.  She saw Avery’s look of recognition, then a look of internal debate.

“Avery,” Avery’s mom said, as Avery picked up the pitcher, which was only a quarter of the way full.  “Don’t you-”

Sheridan had realized what Avery was doing, but wasn’t in much of a position to react or stop her.  Avery pulled back Sheridan’s collar and dumped the ice water down around her back and front.  Sheridan shrieked.

“-dare!” Avery’s mom finished.

Cackling, Avery slipped past Sheridan, who had practically fallen out of her seat.  She deposited the pitcher on the coffee table in the living room as they ran through and out the front door, Sheridan’s cussing following them.

Avery kept jogging ahead, even past the point where they’d passed the end of the driveway and Sheridan hadn’t even appeared at the front door.  Lucy ran with until she had to call Uncle.

“I’m going to get in trouble for that.”

“Sorry if you do,” Lucy said.  “She deserved it.”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t know how you even stand all of that.”

“No choice in the matter,” Avery said.

“I’m getting a headache,” Lucy said.  “That may have shortened my lifespan.”

The rain was just a patter now.  Lucy flipped up her hood to be safe.  Heavy clouds had rolled in.

“What do we do next?” Avery asked.  “And I realize, on asking that, that it sounds like I’m putting that burden on you, to decide.  Are we really doing that all the time?”

“I don’t want you to second guess yourself all the time,” Lucy said.  “Especially if it makes you useless.”

“More useless,” Avery said.

“Enh,” Lucy said, with a one-shoulder shrug.

“That was super unconvincing.”

“I’m kidding.  I am.  Really, though, I don’t want you to be consumed with doubts.”

“Might be too late for that.”

“Just… prioritize what you’re doubting.  Try thinking out loud?” Lucy suggested.

“I want to go places.  That’s a want.  I don’t know how much it helps us solve the mystery or resolve the… you called it a debt, to Verona.”

“Because I think that’s something that she could think on and use,” Lucy said.

“Okay.  Solving the mystery so we don’t have that hanging over our heads.  And because it might be the right thing to do.”

Lucy nodded.

“If it’s that powerful, that its absence is making all of Kennet bleed to our various Sights, then how much meat or sinew or fur or bone is there?  Is it possible that we could go to the right place and find a trail of evidence leading us to where it’s stashed?”

“If it were that easy, an Other might have pointed it out.”

“Unless they’re in on it,” Avery said.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Avery said.

They walked.  A car drove through puddles, but didn’t make splashes big enough to catch them on the sidewalk.  Rain drummed Lucy’s hood and slowly dampened Avery’s hair.  Avery ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it all back.

“I don’t like feeling weak,” Avery said.

“Me either,” Lucy said.

“Maybe we talk to Alpeana and the Goblins?  Get tools, get stronger?  I don’t think they’re as likely to mess with us as the Faerie are, even if the Faerie gifts are…”

Avery made a motion with her hands, to convey something inarticulate, like she was trying to mime ‘big’ and ‘many’ at the same time.

“Yeah,” Lucy said, “there’s a lot there, on a lot of levels.”

“Yeah.  How do other Practitioners get stronger?” Avery asked.  “Are there big steps?  Can we… I don’t know?  Is there a ritual to level up, in the eyes of the spirits?  I might have seen too many of Declan’s games and anime shows.”

“Maybe we ask Miss,” Lucy said.

Avery nodded.

They reached the convenience store.  Avery got out her phone, and started picking out the essentials.  Lucy went hunting for the jerky, then some select chocolate bars.  Salted chocolate, good stuff.

She went to the back for a drink.  The bell at the door binged, as someone entered.

She’d been on guard all day, since the Choir first thing.  The tension hadn’t quite left her, and it had only been alleviated a bit with her ‘bad influence’ move and Avery’s ice water.  She looked up at the little mirror that gave the person at the counter the ability to see people in the aisles.  She saw the man who walked through, stopping at the counter for a second.

“Decide on a drink?” Avery asked.

Lucy watched the mirror.

The man came through, down the aisle.  He stopped just around the corner, opening the fridge door to get milk.

“Remember what I said at lunchtime?” Lucy asked, quiet.

The man in the mirror looked up, his features warped by the domed reflection.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget.  What part?”

“About needing to cut loose,” Lucy said.  “And needing backup when I do something stupid.”

“Uhh.”

Lucy handed Avery the stuff she’d picked out.

The man was already heading to the counter.  Lucy followed.

“Uh!  Lucy!” Avery called out.

Lucy had moved her knife sheath and knife to the inside of her jeans waist after lunch, in anticipation of possibly running into the Choir or something else that was dangerous.  She drew it.

The man –Paul, she could see it for sure now- set the milk on the counter, said something brief to the guy there, and went straight out the door.

“Paul!” Lucy called out, running after him.  “Hey!  Paul!  Why are you running!?”

Paul beeped his car door open, and opened it, climbing inside.

She closed the distance, threw herself onto the hood, and then brought the point of the knife against the hood.

“Coward,” she mouthed the word, dragging the knife’s point a quarter inch against the paint.

She saw his eyes widen.  He opened the door.

He was a skinny guy, white, his graying black hair short, his beard short.  Wrinkles were permanently set across his forehead.  He wore a short sleeved button-up shirt with a vague plaid pattern, and khaki pants with sandals.

“Don’t,” he said.

“Hey, Paul,” she said.  She slid down the hood, but kept the knife’s point against the hood.

Avery and the guy from the convenience store counter stepped outside.

“Put the knife away, Lucy,” he said.

“I wanted to talk.  Why were you running?”

“Please, put the knife away.”

“Please, Paul, engage with me,” she said.

“What’s going on here?” The guy from the convenience store asked.

“They know each other, I think,” Avery said.  She still had the stuff from the store, which meant she was technically shoplifting.

“It’s complicated,’ Paul said.

“Paul here doesn’t want to explain,” Lucy said, “and neither does anyone else in my life.  It’s the damndest thing.”

“This isn’t you,” he said.

“You don’t know me anymore, Paul.  So this guy, he’s the one who dated my mom,” she explained, for Avery’s benefit, and to explain to the clerk.  “Five years.  My dad died when I was young, and my mom was single for a while, and then after a few months of dating, she brought Paul over.  And he kind of stuck around.  Five years!”

“You’re coming across as unhinged.”

“I’m pissed, Paul!” she raised her voice.  “I’ve been sitting on this for years.  So you gotta help me out here.  Have a conversation with me.  Give me that closure.”

“Put the knife away,” he said.  “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“I’m still a little confused, Luce,” Avery said.  “And a little spooked.”

“This guy, Paul, he was almost like a dad to me.  Got Booker through his teen years.  Was sweet to my mom, helped with the chores, helped with finances.  They got engaged, bought a house together.”

“I am sorry,” Paul said.

“And then he- you decided you’d rather suck on your own mother’s tits instead of my mom’s, right?” Lucy asked.  “Is that how it goes?”

Paul’s confusion was palpable.

“And… I’m going inside,” the clerk said.  “Do you want me to call the cops?  Paul?”

“No,” Paul said.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” Paul said.  He wouldn’t meet Lucy’s eyes.

The bell on the door rang as the clerk hauled it open, stepping inside.  He was still watching through the window.

“You ran, Paul.  You left.  You didn’t even say goodbye to us, after being like a dad for five years.  You bailed.  You gutless coward.”

She scratched the car again.  Longer this time.

She saw Paul reach out, like he was going to try to stop her.  Then his arm dropped.  He remained where he as, standing between his car seat and the open car door.

“Do you know the kind of hurt you left our family with, leaving like that?  How much it hurt Booker?  Or that I saw my mom with a look in her eyes, that night you took your stuff and left, and she was so devastated that it devastated me?” Lucy asked.

A pained look crossed his face.  He looked away.

“Come on, Paul.  At least look at me.  At least acknowledge what I’m saying.  You could speak up and participate in this conversation.  Give me something, besides some really shitty life lessons.  I don’t think there’s much you could say that would make me respect you less than I do right now.”

For a moment, she thought he was going to say something.  He didn’t.

“You had the good life.  You obviously cared about each other.  You obviously cared about Booker and me.  When you bailed, that taught me a few things, like how you can be super nice, giving, fair, communicative, you can show respect, you can be thoughtful, you can be fun… and you still get dicked over.  And you know, for me, that was the start of seeing a lot of ugliness from a lot of people.  And for so long, even with you, especially with you… I blamed myself.”

“No,” he said.  “I-”

“You what?” she asked.  “Come on.  Do more than stand there.  Talk.  Explain and do more than leave me to fill in the blanks.”

“It’s not necessarily the kind of thing you can put into words.  Sometimes relationships don’t work out.”

“Bull!” she raised her voice.  “No, bull.  Because I saw it work.  I was paying attention, because to me, when I was eight, nine, ten years old, you and my mom were what I wanted to be.  You were good to each other and for each other.  That’s why I was so confused.  That’s why you have this look on your face, like you shit in your bed and you’re lying in it, and you can’t own up to the reality.”

He looked down at the damage she’d already done to his car hood.

“There’s a pattern I’ve noticed,” Lucy said.  “A kid nearly drowns me and I have to puzzle out why.  Why me in particular?  Why single me out?  What did he want?  A teacher treats me like he thinks I’m dumb, when all I’ve done is get good marks in his class.  And I have to weigh all the questions and possibilities.  It could be this.  It could be that.  My gym teacher gets on my case.  Same thing.”

“I’m sorry that happened.”

“Don’t apologize,” she told him.  “Not unless it’s for what you did to my family.  Because I don’t think my mom has ever been one hundred percent okay since you left.  And she’s terrified of Booker and me finding out your reasons… and it’s not because she did something wrong, is it?  She didn’t cheat, she didn’t steal from you or whatever.”

He was stiff.

“The only way what happened with you and my mom makes sense, with the sequence of events, the way you pulled away and then left… is if I think back to meeting your family.  And your sister and your mom would say stuff when they didn’t think others could hear.  In these scandalized whispers… ‘those children don’t look like they’re yours’.  ‘People will wonder’.”

Lucy blinked a few times.

Paul made a face.

“Your family pressured you, they gave you crap.  Your mom wanted you to have a nice white wife and they never had a nice word to say about my mom, who never did a single thing wrong.  And you caved.  You fought with my mom about it, and then you got your stuff and you left.  Because somehow that was easier.  You’d rather be a mama’s boy than be my dad.”

Avery made a sound, off to Lucy’s right.  Lucy flinched.

“All my life, there’s been these big question marks.  Some teachers, some classmates, some boys at the lake, comments from strangers.  If my mom can’t get work because her name isn’t white enough.  And there’s usually these really easy explanations I could turn to.  Could it be this?  Or are they racist?  Could it be that?  Or are they hateful, or ignorant, or that fucking pathetic?” Lucy asked.  Her eyes were damp, her chin and neck rigid.  “And then there’s you.  This one big exclamation point.  One thing that makes sense in why you left our family.  And I think I could actually find my way to forgiving you if you actually admitted it out loud.  Give me this one.  One time I can be sure, and I can put it to rest.  Or give me another explanation.  Any other explanation would be better than wondering.”

“I really do wish you and Jasmine and Booker the best,” he said.

“Don’t you dare disengage and walk away from this,” she said.  “Or you deserve every bad thing that life brings to you, you deserve every person you meet to see through you to the coward you really are.”

He climbed into the car.

“Suck on your mom’s tits forever, get evicted from wherever you are and live in her basement forever!” she raised her voice, dragging the knife’s edge across the hood, back and forth.  “Unless you own up to what happened or you right the wrongs done.  I hope you get weird boners looking at your mom, because that shrew is the only woman you deserve at this point, you pathetic excuse for a human being!  When you die I want it to be unmarried, alone, and unfulfilled, because you gave up on better!  I said it three times and I could say it over your grave.  Coward!”

The car pulled away, careful at first, and the knife’s edge dragged against the hood.  When she almost had a grip, like she could hang on, he pulled away faster.  She landed, and the bottom corner of the knife nearest to the handle cut into the side of her palm.

He stopped, and for a moment, she thought that getting hurt would be what got him out.  Brought him back.

She slammed her hand against the scratches on the hood, and blood spattered.  “Let the car mechanic ask you about that.”

He pulled away, then turned, to get to where he could pull onto the road.

“You deserve it all, because you wronged my mom!  You shattered her happiness!” she called out after him.  “You wronged my brother!”

He drove off.

Avery came to her side, kneeling beside her.  Avery took her hand, turning it over.

“I don’t have anything with me for this,” Avery said.  “I could use my shirt, but I’m not sure it’s sanitary.”

Lucy shrugged.

“I didn’t know what to do or say, so I kept an eye on the guy at the counter.  To make sure he wasn’t calling anyone.  If he did, I could’ve broken the connection.”

“It’s okay,” Lucy said.

“Do you think Paul is going to call cops?”

Lucy shook her head.

“Are you sure?”

“He’s too much of a coward,” Lucy said.

“You should put pressure on it.”

Lucy did, pressing her hand hard against the side of her other hand.

“Do you want- I think we should get you a doctor.  To get that stitched up.”

“No.  I have stuff at my house.  I’m going to go back.  Check in with my aunt.”

“You asked for backup and I think this moment is really the kind of moment where backup is most needed and necessary,” Avery said.

“I don’t want backup.  I don’t want company.”

“But-”

“Please,” Lucy said.  She climbed from her knees to her feet, which was awkward when she couldn’t use her hands.

“I really think-”

“Avery,” Lucy cut in, her voice hard.  Her eyes damp, she looked her friend in the eyes.  “This isn’t the time to be butt-head stubborn about stuff.  No.  I want to go, you should get the stuff for your family.  Ice cream bars.  Deal with the punishment for icing Sheridan.”

“Icing, god, if only.  Ice-watering,” Avery said, without smiling.  “That doesn’t matter.”

Lucy talked, looking at the roads and trying to orient herself.  “Tomorrow’s another day.  We’ll do practice stuff, see how Verona has processed.  Work with that.  Maybe go someplace weird.  It might be nice to find out something for Reagan, since tomorrow night’s the next thing for the Choir.”

“I don’t think any of that matters much right now, Lucy.”

“I’m going.  Don’t follow,” Lucy said.

“But-”

Lucy pushed back Avery’s hand, and she walked, hands pressed together.

After she’d walked two blocks in a straight line down the road, she looked back.  Avery was still there, at the convenience store.  Watching.

Which wasn’t technically following.

Fair enough.

It was only after she’d walked another two blocks that she heard the soft clapping.

“Good show,” Toadswallow said, from the shadows of one ditch.  It wasn’t quite dark out.

“Get bent, Toadswallow,” Lucy said.  “I wasn’t putting on a show for your benefit.”

“You did good.  That was top fucking notch,” Toadswallow said.

“Wheee!” Cherry piped up.

“Maybe don’t piss off the girl who’s still got a knife and who just demonstrated she has no patience left,” she said.

Munch kept pace with her, walking on his knuckles, loping forward.  He moved through front yards, keeping to the shadows by bushes and fixtures.   “Lucille?”

“Don’t call me Lucille,” she said.

“You introduced yourself to us all as Lucille-”

“I frigging know I did,” she said.  “Again, don’t test my patience.”

“Okay,” he said, like the ‘oke’ and the ‘ay’ were two different words.  “Do you want us to destroy him?  This Paul?”

She kept walking, her eyes fixed forward.  Her hand throbbed.

She seriously considered it.

“No,” she said.  “I think I did a pretty good job.”

“Do you want us to let you know, my dear?” Toadswallow asked.  “I’m interested to see how life treats him now.”

“I’m done with him,” Lucy said.  “A part of me wanted him back.  Until tonight.  Not now.  I don’t want to hear or see anything about him.  I’ll get angry at you if you tell me anything.  Or if you do anything to him.  Let him sit with what he got tonight.”

“Dear me,” Toadswallow said.  “I don’t want to get on your bad side, so I won’t.”

Munch grunted assent.

“Finally,” Lucy answered, her voice airy.  She stared off in the direction of her house.  “Someone gets it.”

“Want something for the bleeding?” Toadswallow asked.

“I want to be left alone while I walk home,” she said.  “Go.”

There was no response.

When she finally took her eyes off the road, the goblins were gone.

The rest of the way home was quiet, which was merciful.

It made it easier to hold herself together.

She let herself in with her key, and then the tears started flowing.

“Lucy,” her aunt said, from the other room.  “I was wondering what movie-”

Her aunt stepped into view.

“What happened?”

Lucy went to her aunt, hugging her- clutching her and probably getting blood on her shirt, and began to sob.  When Lucy fell to her knees, her aunt dropped down with her.

“Don’t tell my mom,” Lucy managed.

Avery

“How’s it going over there?” Ms. Hardy asked.

“It’s going okay.  Hi Ms. Hardy,” Aubrey said.

“Stop hesitating, Faith!” Mr. Bader shouted.

Avery stood at one corner of the field with two of her teammates, Audrey and Aubrey, twins from a grade above her.  They were were doing Mr. Bader’s Three Goal challenge, and for the process to go smoothly, the girls who weren’t playing defense or running point were doing their best to keep the balls in bounds, or give out balls.

Three small goals had been set up in a triangle, with a player on defense at each goal.  One player had to take a ball, navigate through the cones in the center, get past the defense, score, pivot, and repeat.  Three times in total.  It was supposed to drill them on responding quickly.

Ms. Hardy was on the other side of the fence that separated the field from the parking lot, holding a cardboard box under one arm, the bottom edge resting on her hip.  Her eyes, half-lidded and decorated with eyeliner Avery thought of as almost Egyptian style, were scanning the field.

Avery wished she could be that casually cool.

“Did you get fired?” Audrey asked.

Avery looked in alarm at the little cardboard box.

But Ms. Hardy chuckled.  “No.  Don’t worry.  Classwork to go over this weekend.”

“Going home a bit earlier today, then?” Avery asked.

“I am.”

“Shoot.  I was hoping to swing by for a minute after practice, ask for advice on something.”

“Is it important?  Can it wait until Monday?” Ms. Hardy asked.

“Not too important, I don’t think, and yeah,” Avery said, shrugging.  “I guess.”

A spattering of wet droplets came down from the sky, prompting Avery to look up.  If it was going to rain, the weather was really doing its level best to sneak up on them.  A heavy cloud cover, but no real hint of the actual rain starting.

The air was hot, making it uncomfortable to breathe.

“Faster, Faith!” Mr. Bader barked.  “I’d rather see you make a mistake than freeze!  You can learn from a mistake, but if you freeze you’re holding the rest of us up!”

Ms. Hardy said, “Mr. Lai is going to meet me in the parking lot Monday morning and help me move some things for a home project into my car, if you wanted to swing by and chat with the two of us.”

“It can’t be one-on-one?”

“Not typically, no.  I do trust Mr. Lai and I think you can too, if that helps.  If you’d rather it was a group of other students, we could do that at lunchtime on Monday.  Depending on what you wanted to talk about, I’m sure I could round up some students.”

“Okay,” Avery said.  “Probably not that.  I might think on it over the weekend and show up on Monday.”

“Sounds good,” Ms. Hardy said.  “Offer for the lunch meet stands.”

A ball was kicked over in their direction.

“I got it, you talk,” Audrey said, running after it.

Avery knew who those students at the lunch meet might be.  Three of the boys in her class, a couple of others in school.

It was a bit frustrating.  Avery considered the time she’d opened up to Ms. Hardy about her loneliness to be a life changing moment.  A few quiet questions from this cool, caring teacher and she’d broken down, opened up about everything.  Her teacher had listened, considered, connected, and cared.

But ever since, they hadn’t really had one-on-one talks.  Bits of advice, yes, but always brief.  Or slightly longer talks, if Ms. Hardy was going somewhere or Avery was going somewhere, and they happened to cross paths.  If the conversation continued for more than a couple of minutes, Avery got this.  The deflection, the guardedness of it, where Ms. Hardy would want to make it a group discussion instead.  Mr. Lai had a gay brother and was Ms. Hardy’s friend, so he was usually the person there.  Ms. Hardy and Mr. Lai had something like a general LGBT student group where Ian, Justin, and Noah from her class and a larger group of the older teenagers and their friends would go talk with the teachers as referees.

Avery didn’t even really like Ian and Noah, felt iffy on Justin, and being around the older teenagers made her feel like she was sitting through dinner with her family, except she didn’t even know them or feel any familiarity.  She’d gone once and didn’t feel eager to go again.  It wasn’t what she wanted or needed.

She wanted the one-on-one time with Ms. Hardy, but she did understand what Ms. Hardy had said about the boundaries teachers had to maintain with students.  That didn’t mean it didn’t suck butt.

It was why she’d been so happy to talk for more than a few minutes with Ms. Hardy, last week.  Touching base, even if it was a bit clinical.  How are things with your family?  Are you managing with class?

“Focus, Melissa!  We need you here on Earth, not in la-la land!”

“I could hear him from my desk in the classroom at the second floor,” Ms. Hardy said.

“It’s not so bad,” Avery said.

“Does he raise his voice to you?”

“Some,” she said.

“He’s a good coach,” Aubrey added.

“Makes sense,” Ms. Hardy said.  “He had some background.”

Audrey had fetched the ball, kicking it over to one of the players on defense.  The player maneuvered the ball to sit beside their little netted goal.  She jogged up to join them.

“He’s really good when it comes to training us in groups of two or three, when it’s just a couple of us who’re wanting to get really polished at something,” Avery said.  “He’s good as a coach like this.  But as a gym teacher…”

“Hey,” Audrey said.  “He’s fine.”

“I don’t know if he knows how to deal with the students who don’t give a crap,” Avery said.

“That, I can say, is never easy,” Ms. Hardy said.

She thought of Lucy yesterday.  The sheer emotion.

A few months ago, Ms. Hardy had reached out and Avery had broken down.  The dam had cracked and everything had poured out.  It had needed to happen.  It had been important.  It had been healthier in the long run.  The dam wasn’t supposed to be there.

And… Lucy hadn’t had a Ms. Hardy, she supposed.

In her analogy, she wasn’t sure if Lucy was building up the dam herself, dropping rocks on top, or if she’d gone hacking at it, knife in hand, with enough intensity that she’d accidentally cut herself.

“I think he gives some of my friends a harder time than others,” Avery noted, watching the girls play.

“Avery!” Mr. Bader shouted.  She jumped despite herself.

Oh.  It was her turn.

She felt her face heat up as she ran.  Mr. Bader threw a ball, and she bumped it with her chest, then the side of her leg, turning to follow it.  Through the posts, straight at Melissa, who had taken up roost by one goal, playing goalie more than she was playing defense.

Melissa wasn’t allowed to use her hands, though.

Avery paused, seeing if she could bait Melissa out.

“Don’t dally!” Mr. Bader called out.

Avery drew back, feinted, then kicked hard.  The goal was small, barely two strides across, and the soccer ball bounced off the side.

“I know you can do better than that!”

She felt the flush at her face as Faith kicked the ball out to the side.  Part of the exercise was to score when approaching from odd angles, and Avery decided to apply that, approaching the goal from the side.  Faith met her halfway.  Avery dribbled around Faith, put her body firmly between Faith and the ball, and kept it there until the little goal was just to her left and she could let the ball roll in without much of a kick.

“Step it up, Faith!”

Last ball, last player, last goal.  Avery met the ball, then went at the goal hard.

She wasn’t much of a player when it came to accuracy.  Not in basketball, not in soccer, and not even really in hockey, which was her favorite sport.

But she was comfortable with her handling of the soccer ball or puck.  She decided to play to her strengths.  Run fast, keep that ball right where she wanted it, as she ran toward Samantha, and maintained control of it as she slipped past Samantha.  She saw Samantha stick her foot out and adjusted her own footing.  Samantha’s cleat scraped against her shin guard, but it didn’t tap the ball.

She dribbled the ball into the goal.

“I want to see you practicing shooting, Avery!  I didn’t take hours of my day last week to give my forwards shooting practice, just for one of you to pretend it’s not a thing!”

She nodded her acknowledgement, huffing, and bent forward with her hands on her knees.  Her skin prickled with sweat and the ambient warmth.  Samantha vacated the goal, leaving Avery in position as defense.

Aubrey was already done trouncing Melissa.  Avery waited for Aubrey to get to her, removing the ball from the goal and kicking it toward the collection of balls by Mr. Bader.

Ms. Hardy was talking to Aubrey’s sister.  Avery watched Ms. Hardy leave.

Aubrey handily dealt with Melissa, then Faith.  Aubrey had a good kick, with killer accuracy.

Avery watched as Mr. Bader punted the ball over the girl’s head.  She did the opposite of what Melissa had done, and headed straight for her opponent.  She paused for a moment to let her get the ball, then immediately went for it, not giving Aubrey the time to get centered, set her eyes on the goal, or shoot.

Aubrey tried to feint, and Avery claimed the ball, kicking it back toward Mr. Bader.

“Good, Avery!  We need to work on that, Aubrey!”

Faith vacated her spot so Aubrey could take up position.  Aubrey didn’t, though.  She paused.  “Hey?”

Avery nodded.

“Don’t badmouth Mr. Bader to other adults, okay?  It’s pure luck we got a guy who can coach at all.  I don’t know if you remember Mrs. Burke last year but-”

“I wasn’t around last year.”

“She was a mom who volunteered and she barely knew the first thing about soccer.  I know it’s not your sport either, you’re a hockey girl, but some of us are counting on doing well enough here that we can put it on our applications and use it to get into a half-decent school.”

People were already thinking about applying to schools?  Wasn’t that like, three or four years away?

“I’m a soccer player too,” Avery said.  “And I didn’t say anything untrue.  He was kind of a dick to my friend.”

“Get in position, Aubrey!”

“‘Kind of’ isn’t good enough, okay?  If he breaks an actual rule, and you have proof, fine, I guess.”

“Proof like what?  Should I secretly bring my phone with me to gym class and practice, and record stuff?”

“You should keep from saying unsubstantiated stuff you’re not sure about, with ‘I think’s and ‘kind of’s, when rumors spread and it’s his career and our team on the line.”

Aubrey started jogging to her spot.  Avery jogged with to maintain the conversation.

“Isn’t it better if we say something so it can be fixed?”

“This isn’t social time, ladies!”

“Not when the obvious fix is canceling the team, suspending him for a while or replacing him.  My mom’s on the school board and they always take the easy way.”

“Avery!” Mr. Bader said.  One word, harder than before.  He pointed.

She jogged back to her position, arriving just as the ball was thrown for Aubrey’s twin sister.

She worried there’d be a reaction or a continuation of the conversation, as she foiled Audrey and claimed the ball.  Instead, there was just a tight smile, and then Audrey went over to replace Melissa.

Audrey wasn’t very good, in contrast to her sister.  Maybe that was why she didn’t seem to care as much.  There was a possibility that the two girls would talk and there’d be more said about it next practice, though.

Avery wasn’t really sure what else to do about it.

She’d spent a lot of time last night, mulling over Lucy and her situation.  What it would be like.  What she could do.

Lucy angrily telling her and Verona how she felt like she had no backup.  How easily and casually she had offered Avery some of that backup at the dinner table.

She wasn’t sure whether she felt glad she’d done this, felt like it wasn’t enough, or felt like she’d made things worse with her team.

Which maybe kinda fit with what Lucy had described.  Not ever knowing.

Avery did her three ‘defends’, then vacated the goal.  Mr. Bader set her the task of rounding up the balls and stuffing them into bags.  Aubrey got the balls from the other end of the field, kicking them over one by one, while her sister stopped them and rounded them up.

There were no more comments.

Mr. Bader called the end to practice, and the girls split up.  Maybe a third headed for the showers in the school.  The rest headed to the parking lot, where parents had started to gather, or just started on their way home.

Avery’s dad stood by the car.  She could see the back seat was full, and Grumble was in the passenger seat.  She jogged over.

“Hey,” Melissa said.

Avery turned, guarded.

“Ever think about doing cross-country?”

Avery’s classmate was sweating more than most.  Probably having that crimped hair she had barely cut since she was in grade three was acting to partially insulate her.  Even pulled back into a high ponytail, it draped her shoulders and neck.

“Not really.  Why?”

“Because your aim isn’t really that hot, but man I’m jealous of how fast you are.”

“I don’t really like running for running’s sake.  It doesn’t feel like there’s much of a point.”

“Ok.  I was just figuring.”

Avery shrugged.

She didn’t really ‘get’ Melissa.

“Good practice?” Avery’s dad asked.

“Eh.”

He moved to hug her, and she protested, “I’m sweaty.”

And it’s weird getting a dad hug in front of everyone.

“I don’t care,” he said.  He extended his arms.

She gave him a perfunctory hug.  “Where do I sit?”

“You’re going to have to squeeze.”

“Can I sit in the far back?” she asked.  The car was a hatchback sedan, with a spacious back storage area.

“Not allowed.  There’s no seat belts back there.”

She made a face.

The back seat had Kerry strapped into her car seat, Declan in the middle seat with his handheld game thing, and Sheridan, who kind of wasn’t equipped to cede much seat space, either in terms of willingness and personality, or in terms of her fat butt.

Avery squeezed past Kerry, the toes of Kerry’s shoes dragging against her side, making her soccer jersey dirty when the whole of soccer practice hadn’t.

“Eww, you’re sweaty.”

“So are you,” Avery said.  Her kid sister’s hair was plastered to her head.  “What are you eating?  That smells awful.”

“Grape apes.”

“Let me know when you’re buckled in,” her dad said.

“They smell-” Avery had to fight to get in beside Declan, who didn’t take his eyes off his game or help in the slightest, “-almost like cough syrup, juice that’s been sitting on the counter overnight, and faintly of musty butt.”

“Delicious cough juice butt,” Kerry said, her mouth so full of chewy purple candy she could barely speak or keep the chewed candy in bounds.

“How would you know what butt smells like?  Smelling a lot of musty butts, Avery?”

“I have to smell you most days, Sheridan.”

“Hyuk hyuk.”

Kerry waved the bag toward Avery’s face.  Avery pulled back, almost headbutting Declan.

“Get out of my face, Avery!” Declan said, his voice rising in pitch, like he was standing on a cliff’s edge.  His eyes didn’t leave the screen.

“Move over, and I won’t be so in your way.”

She found her space between him and the car seat, not that it was much of one.  The hard plastic of Kerry’s kid seat scraped and jabbed.  Then she had to fight to find the socket to plug the seatbelt into, while Declan bumped her with his hip a few times, trying to lay claim to a bit more seat real estate.  When she leaned over toward him to get more length on the seat belt, he dug his elbow into her side.  She kicked his leg with the side of her cleats in retaliation.

“Ugh.  You’re slippery, so gross,” Declan protested.  He pulled right, away from her.  “Who said girls don’t sweat?  You leave a slime trail wherever you go.”

“How wrong you are.  We don’t sweat or play video games,” Sheridan said.  She touched something on the screen.  “See?”

“Nooo!  No!  What did you do?  I didn’t want to use him!”

“Lower your voice, Declan,” their dad said.

“My game!  I’ve been playing that for two hours, you fat bitch!”

“Ohh!” Kerry chimed in, digging into the bag of candy.  “You shouldn’t say that!”

“You shouldn’t be playing a video game for two hours to begin with, and don’t call your sister names,” Avery’s dad said.

“I should get to call her names when she dragged my silver-white onto the battlefield in the warning round!  I needed that for the boss!”

He was being so loud Avery had to cover her ear.

“I will take away your advance gear if you don’t calm down and apologize for calling your sister names.”

“She messed up my game!”

“Declan!”

“Should have saved,” Sheridan said.

“You don’t save in this game!  Oh my god, I can’t win now!”

“You’re very busy losing actually…” Avery’s dad said.  “…privileges to your console.”

They hadn’t left the parking space.

Avery fended off the bag of grape apes that was being waved at her face.  The artificial grape smell of it was thick in her mouth and nose.

“Can I like, not be in this car?” Avery asked.  “I could run home.  I might even be able to get home before this entire thing is settled.”

She mentally defined ‘settled’ as the end of hostilities between Declan and Sheridan.  She could probably run five laps around Kennet and solve the Carmine Beast thing solo before those two laid down arms.

“We were going to go get fast food,” Avery’s dad said.  “Your mom has a work thing in Thunder Bay.  I’m not up to cooking.  Stay seated.”

“But-”

“No, Avery.  You ducked out on dinner early, but if you keep leaving mid-meal, skipping family dinners, or going away for weekends, you’re going to end up a feral child.  Stay seated.  And Declan, if you can’t give me the console and apologize in the next minute, you’ll lose all game privileges.”

Declan was crying now.  Droplets fell onto the screen, and he did his best to wipe them away without pressing anything or activating anything on the touchscreen.

“Declan!”

Kerry stuck the bag in Avery’s face, a look on her face like she thought this was a game.  Avery snatched the bag from her six year old sister’s hand.

Then, seeing the shock on Kerry’s face, quickly folded and rolled up the top of the bag, and pressed it into Kerry’s lap.  “Stop.  Please, Kerry.  It smells so bad.”

“I was so close to winning,” Declan whined.

“This is hell,” Sheridan said.  “Living with this is hell.”

“You’re not making it any easier!” Declan said, through tears.  Then he reached out and grabbed at Sheridan’s side, twisting and pinching.

“Declan!”

Avery saw Kerry’s face, going from the earlier shock to a tearless sniveling, like she was fighting the urge to get upset and break down into wailing.

And then it was just noise and infighting.

“How are you doing, Grumble?” Avery asked, over the noise, as her dad reached in her and Declan’s direction, trying to take the game from Declan’s hands.

Grumble said something unintelligible, and made a stiff so-so gesture, hand flat and waggling.

Sheridan, being pinched and grabbed at, popped her seat belt, opened the door, and escaped the car.

“Get back in the car!” Avery’s dad ordered.

“I’m going to walk home.  I’ll buy dinner with my own money.”

“No no no,” Declan protested.  Their dad had a firm grip on one half of the handheld console.  “My friends are playing and I told them I’d win one by tomorrow.”

“Sheridan, you’re in trouble too.  There was no call to take his game from him.”

“I didn’t take his game.  Punish me later.  It can’t be worse than having to spend the next half hour doing drive-thru.”

Avery popped her own seat belt, escaping past Kerry to the other door.

“Avery- Okay, you know what?  You two watch each other.  Stick together, come straight home.  Sheridan, we’ll talk about your punishment when you’re home.”

“Whatever.”

“I was thinking I’d see my friends,” Avery said.

“I think that’s exactly what I didn’t want to happen this weekend.  I’d like to show your mom that if she has to keep going back there, she can trust me to keep a handle on things.”

“Let Rowan-” Avery paused as Kerry raised her voice, protesting about being hungry.  “Let Rowan do his thing with his girlfriend.  Declan could go to his friends, I’ll go hang with my friends.  They said I’m welcome.  If it keeps things more sane…”

“She’s not wrong,” Sheridan chimed in.

“I wanted this to be an actual trial run, it’s- Declan, please quiet down.”

“My friend’s going through a hard time, I think,” Avery said.

“I don’t- Kerry.  Okay.  Fine.  Stay in contact by phone.  Let me know what you’re doing.”

“Bye Grumble,” Avery said.  “Love you.”

“Love yeh,” he mumbled back.

“Love you dad.”

“I love you too.  Kerry, please!  I told you you could only have a treat if you behaved-!”

Avery backed away from the car, then started walking in the general direction of the Burger Bin.  She pulled out her phone.

“Why are you walking beside me?” Sheridan asked.

“I’m walking in the direction of the Burger Bin, you?” Avery asked, still looking at the phone.

“Same.”

Avery texted a quick message to Lucy.

“What’s this thing with your friend having a hard time?” Sheridan asked.

“Are you asking because you actually care?” Avery asked, putting her phone away.

“I’m curious.”

“She ran into her ex-stepdad yesterday.  He bailed on them five years ago.  She kinda flipped, did a number on his car.”

“Wow.  Go her.”

“I’m not sure if it’s a ‘go her’ moment.  It was more sad than anything.  She had a bunch to say about the way people have been treating her in general.  Like my coach.”

“This is the black one?”

Avery gave Sheridan a look.

“What?  Is it racist to ask that?  Genuine question, because I don’t know.  And I don’t keep track of your friend’s names.”

“It’s Lucy, yeah.  I was going to ask one of my teachers…” Avery trailed off, checking her phone.

Lucy.  It was a ‘no’ on coming over.  She was doing dinner with her aunt and mom.

She hadn’t even wanted to talk about it earlier in the day.  Avery felt the gulf.

“You were going to ask your teacher what?”

“Some stuff in general.  About friendships and maintaining friends and… it’d be nice to ask about team stuff because I might have messed that up just before you guys picked me up, and I’m kind of on a team with those two, and I dunno.  It’d be nice to have some perspective.  I thought I’d ask her about dating advice and programs, but… that’d be dumb.”

“Which teacher?  The one who talked to mom and dad?  Black hair, intense makeup?”

“Yeah.”

“You realize she’s a cat lady, right?  And there’s rumors about her?  You might want to go somewhere else for your dating advice.”

“She really helped me out the one time,” Avery said.  “She’s given me advice before, and it was good.  She’s cool.”

Sheridan snorted.

“She is!”

“It was pretty funny how she totally freaked out mom and dad on an existential level.”

“I don’t think it was existential.”

“Your existence, anyway.  They’re like, oh shit, Avery exists!”

Avery frowned.

“Right?  Right?”

“That quite wasn’t how it happened.”

“Nah.  It happened to me too.  They were busy figuring out all the firsts with Rowan, like, he was their first teenager, their first kid who had to deal with high school, who had to deal with school administration, who wanted to go to summer camp… and then you guys start appearing.  And here I am, just chewing on the popcorn, waiting until I’ve got a space of my own, and then I lose space as Kerry moves in.”

“Right,” Avery said.

“You’re too nice about stuff.  It’s why I give you a hard time, try to shake you out of this little rut you’ve dug for yourself.”

“I don’t think it helps like you think it does.”

“Maybe.  Well, can’t give you much advice on that stuff you want to ask your teacher,” Sheridan said.  “I don’t have any friends.  Or teams, or hobbies, or anything I really care about all that much.  A boyfriend would be so nice, but dating advice?  Pshh.”

Avery gave her sister a sidelong look.

“Don’t pity me or anything.  I’m not unhappy.  Life’s fine.  It’s just dull and super annoying when you’re whining, or Declan’s being noisy, or Kerry clings.  One more year of classes and then I can apply to a shitty University somewhere, I’ll figure out what I want to do with my life in my freshman year at Uni like mom, dad, Grumble and Gran did, and then my life finally starts.”

“Looking forward to that.”

“To getting rid of me?” Sheridan asked the question with a bit of an accompanying snort.

“A little bit,” Avery said.  “And also looking forward to you maybe finding something to do that you’re interested in, that isn’t making the rest of us miserable.  Picking on me, messing up Declan’s game.”

“We can dream,” Sheridan said.  “That was a little funny, though, right?”

Avery made a face, and a so-so gesture, mostly to keep the conversation with Sheridan tolerable.

“From the way he made it sound, I accidentally messed him up in the perfect way.  Maybe it’s a special skill.”

“What career would even come of that?  Do you end up Sheridan, master of international espionage?”

“That’s not a career, you little loser.”

“Gonna text my friend, and if I can go over or do something with her, I should be out of your hair tonight,” Avery said.  “Do me a favor and don’t let me walk into traffic while I’m typing?”

“No promises.”

Avery sent a message to Verona.

Is it ok if I come over for a while after dinner? Grabbing a burger at the Bin.

The reply came back fairly fast:

Bring me one?  And fries?  I’ll pay you back.  & can you stay over?  I was thinking we should do the last few interviews.

Verona, dwelling on the interviews and the investigation.

Avery nodded to herself.

Burg might be cold by time I get there.

Verona replied:

Microwaves exist.  No prob.

But… there was the invitation to stay over.

I want to listen, Avery thought to herself.

When Lucy expressed her reservations about Mr. Bader.  When people warned them about the Faerie.  When people warned them about the danger of the Choir, and how strong it was.  Told them to not get involved.

The little regrets were stacking up.

And she’d been told to be careful with Verona’s dad.  That he was weird.  She typed out her reply:

Will me staying over be ok with your dad and all?  He’s…?

She sent it like that.  If she started reconsidering every message, she’d never send everything.  Verona’s reply was one word:

Weird

Verona’s sent another message right after.  Sheridan poked Avery in the side of the head, to steer her around a gully in the sidewalk.

“Thank you,” Avery murmured, looking up from the screen.  “Being a good big sister as a change, hm?”

“Keep talking like that and I won’t steer you around the next one.”

“Ha ha.”

She read Verona’s reply.

Might be uncomfortable but not unbearable.
It’s easier to go out tonight if we’re at my place.

Avery checked with Lucy.

Lucy didn’t say no.

She told Verona she would stay over.

◬

The microwave hummed as Verona’s fries heated up.  Avery couldn’t understand how she could eat them like that, when the microwave would change consistency, texture, moisture…

She ate some of her own fries.  She’d rather have them cold than eat them post-microwave.  It was mostly about the salt, anyway.

It was a late hour to be finishing dinner, about fifteen past eight.  Avery had stopped in at her house for two minutes to change clothes, and had arrived late, bearing a lukewarm burger and cold fries for Verona.

Verona’s house was so quiet.

There was no television on that Avery could hear.  No A.C., no chatter.  Verona didn’t fill the silence, as she peered in through the microwave door.  The neighbors were too distant to be audible.

The house was about the same size as Lucy’s, and both were a little smaller than Avery’s.  But, like… one parent and one kid in each of their homes, compared to Avery’s place where there were eight people, eight people’s stuff, and the little assistance features for Grumble that took up that extra space.

More than the quiet, it felt dark.  It was hard for her to identify why.  The curtains were a little more drawn in, at the edges of windows; Verona had said her dad got migraines and had come home with a bit of a headache.  So that made sense.  But it didn’t account for all of it.  It was in the color of furniture, where there weren’t many solid reds, or yellows, or blues.  It might have been the angle of the house, where the sun shone in through the side, rather than the front.

It might have been the mood.  The two of them not really talking, and Verona’s dad as this big unknown that hadn’t even introduced himself.  He was just upstairs, like a vague presence, as if they were in a cave and he was the bear at the back of the cave they didn’t want to agitate.

The microwave beeped, loud.

“Hungry Choir is tonight,” Verona said.

“Yeah,” Avery said.  “I wish we could do more.  I was thinking, like, what if we got enough ribbon, and the right animal, and I could use it to go over there?”

“The Forest Ribbon Trail?”

“You can apparently use it as a way to get places.  But I thought back to that conversation earlier, and… what would we even do?  Who do we save?  How?  And then I wondered if I’m being a coward and trying to just find excuses not to go and not to get entangled a lot more.”

“I think it’s the kind of thing where we’d have to find a solution, then go after it,” Verona said.  “Going there every night looking for weak points hurts us more than it hurts them.”

“Feels wrong.”

Verona shrugged, nodding.  She went to take a recently microwaved french fry, limp, and pulled her fingers way, sucking on them.

Again, the quiet.  No video games, no music.  No mother that hummed every time she did the dishes, to the point it seemed pathological.

Lucy’s place hadn’t felt like this.  There had been the stove, and Verona had been there, there’d been stuff to show each other.  Verona had put on music.

Was it just Lucy’s absence?

“Are things going to be okay with you and Lucy?” Avery asked.

Verona shrugged again.  “Hope so.”

“That’s it?  Just… ‘hope so’?”

“I don’t know what you expect.  I can’t say for sure.  We’ve been through bad patches where we fought, and we’re really bad at fighting with one another.  We’ve been through serious patches when being friends wasn’t as much fun because of other stuff going on.  Like my parents divorcing or her thing with Paul.  And we’d just…”

Verona shrugged for a third time.

“…do what we could.”

Avery frowned.

Verona went on, “I don’t think we’ve had a bad and serious patch in her friendship.  I thought we were just dealing with some bad, but it was serious for her.”

“It should have been serious for us too.”

Verona nodded.

“I messed up so bad with Pam,” Avery murmured.  “I feel a bit sick about it now.”

“Did you decide what to do?”

“Cutting contact.  But then, like, can I really talk to Ms. Hardy about stuff?  Or am I risking entangling her too?  Where do we draw the line?”

“I don’t think it’s that slippery a slope, Ave.”

“Still sucks.”

“It does.”

“Still leaves me anxious.  Wondering about whether any other people I’m with are being entangled without my knowing it.”

“I wouldn’t stress too much about that.  But it’s good to keep in mind, maybe.”

“I’m so worried about Lucy, too.  That thing yesterday, it-”

Avery stopped.  There was a heavy thud, followed by two more.  Bangs against a wall or floor.  Three bangs in total.

Verona sighed.

“What was that?  Is he okay?”

“That’s how he calls me when he doesn’t want to yell,” Verona said.  She handed Avery the packet of microwave-heated limp fries.  “Excuse me.”

Verona headed upstairs.  Avery set the packet of fries she didn’t want to eat down on the counter, finished her own fries, and found the bin to toss out the extra fast food bag, the foil wrappers for the burgers, and wiped up the salt that had leaked out over the slate countertop.

She did a little circuit around the ground floor.  Front hall, living room, dining room and kitchen were arranged so they each took up a rough quarter of the house, each connecting to the room on either side.  It was tidier than her own house, but maybe not as clean.  Grit behind the TV, salt from winter crusted in the little resting spot for boots by the back door.  Nothing huge, and not anything that would make her think twice about eating or sleeping here, but… different.

She investigated a display cabinet that held little knick-knacks and trinkets, along with chinaware that looked neat but didn’t really go together.  She wanted to look at some figurines, so she went to pull out a dining room chair.  It didn’t budge.

Which was disconcerting.  Chairs were supposed to move.

Some investigation explained why.  She wiggled the chair, and it came loose, but there were little marks on the floor, like it had melted in.

Verona or her dad had mopped and waxed the floor, and had done so while the chairs were under the table.  The wax had gathered up around the legs, solidified, and it was Avery, not either of the two people who lived here, who had noticed that fact.  The table was the same, as she gave it a light push and it refused to budge a millimeter, despite not being an especially big table.  The other three chairs… the one at the head of the table wasn’t quite as deeply set.

How long ago had it been, that the chairs had been waxed into place like that?  Or rather, how long had it been that these chairs hadn’t been dragged out from under the table and sat on?  The socket where the chair leg had stopped formed a bit of a crater.  That depth… either they used a lot of wax for one mop and wax, which didn’t really line up with the one chair being less deep-set… or they’d done it over time, never eating at this dining room table, over a long period that had seen multiple house cleanings.

It wasn’t that she meant to snoop, but it was so alien to her, she couldn’t help but wonder.  It simultaneously made Verona make a bit more sense to Avery, and yet left Avery with a multitude of questions.

It had, as best as she could count, been about ten minutes that Verona had gone upstairs.

She ascended the stairs, and stood at the second stair from the top.  The hallway extended across the upstairs, branching off to the left and right, into the bathroom and two other rooms.  Verona stood at the end of the hall, in the doorway to Mr. Hayward’s room, at the end of the hall.

“You’re just like her,” Mr. Hayward’s voice was deep, but not strong.  It sounded almost plaintive.  “You tune me out, you try to walk away while I’m talking to you.”

“I left my friend downstairs.”

“On our tenth wedding anniversary, she left early to go spend time with her friends.  Writing on the wall, wasn’t it?  I came home that night alone to relieve the babysitter.  Most couples would spend the night together on their anniversary at the very least.  Have some intimacy.  Didn’t even have to be sex.  I would have given her a footrub or a massage.  Do you remember that night?  You would have been nine.”

“No,” Verona said.

“You don’t remember the first thing you said to me?  No?  Because what you said was something that will always stay with me, Verona.  ‘Where’s mom’.  Not, I love you dad.  Not how was your night, or any caring at all.  I wish I could say I’ve never felt as alone as I did that night.  You didn’t smile at me.  You gave me nothing.  You did smile at your hung-over mom the next morning.”

“Ah,” Verona said.

Avery, standing at the stairs, at the far end of the hallway, hugged herself, feeling uneasy.

“Writing on the wall, like I said.  I should have known.  That she resented me.  That she didn’t care one iota about me.”

“People grow apart,” Verona said.

“No, Verona,” Mr. Hayward said.  “No, no, because I put in the effort!  I pushed for couples counseling!  I made concessions.  I changed myself for her.  In ways I still haven’t fully come back from.  I tried to close that gap and she might as well have spat in my face, for all it mattered.  Gaps happen if you let them.  But I wasn’t willing to let it happen like that.  Our separation was her walking away from me.  Walking away from us.”

“Ah,” Verona said.  “Sucks.”

“‘Sucks’?” he asked.  “Is this the writing on the wall with you too?  I put in all this effort, I spend all this time trying to communicate and reach out to you, and I get a ‘sucks’?”

“Really sucks?  I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll try!  Say you’ll act like a proper daughter!  Say you’ll spend time with me when I’m not making you.  Lie down next to me, watch a movie with me like you used to.  Connect with me.”

He went from raising his voice to almost begging over the course of a few sentences.

“I’ve got a friend over.  My new friend Avery.  She’s cool.”

“And you’d rather spend time with her than me?  Because she’s cool?”

“I can spend time with you most nights.  She’s over for tonight.”

Verona looked back over her shoulder, and saw Avery standing there.

Avery couldn’t help but feel like she’d seen something she shouldn’t.  Verona, for her part, didn’t even flinch.

Verona motioned for Avery to go, indicating one of the doors.

“Is that her?” Verona’s dad asked.  “Invite her in here.  Let me cover myself up with a sheet.  It’s too hot, even with the A.C.”

Verona, head leaning against the doorframe by her dad’s room, put one finger in her ear, out of sight of her dad, and winked at Avery.

Avery hesitated, then plugged her ears.

Verona pulled her finger from her ear, giving Avery a thumbs up.  Avery withdrew her fingers from her ears, and caught the end of Verona saying, “-n’t think she heard just now.”

“You could go get her, bring her in.  I should meet your friends.”

“I think I’m going to go do stuff with her.  Projects and some fun stuff.”

“Go do that, then.  Fine.  After I’ve worked my ass off for you for the whole last week, two jobs…”

Verona motioned with her hand.  Avery opened the door Verona had indicated, and let herself into Verona’s room.  The intervening walls muffled the words, until she could hear the voice, but not decipher what he was saying.  It was mostly him talking.  Tone only kind of came through.

The room was actually dark, unlike the rest of the house, which had just felt that way, somehow.  But there were posters with interesting images, that might have been from music albums.  Old art projects were hung up here and there, without much order or organization.

Verona had said she’d collected skulls, and sure enough, there were a few skull decorations, as well as the little one-toothed raccoon or beaver skull that they’d used for awakening.  One was plaster, maybe, and there was a stone with a black ore running through it that had been shaped to look like a small fist-sized skull.

Avery had had to put in so much effort to keep her siblings from getting their paws on practice stuff, but Verona had a computer desk with a laptop shut and moved to one side, and it was scattered with the stuff.

Her dad didn’t ever walk into her room, look at what she was doing?

There was a creepy sound, and it took her a second to make heads or tails of it.  Low, on and off.

Filtered through a wall with pretty good sound blocking, going out one open window and into another, was the sound of a man at least three times their age, sobbing in a way that was more childish than when Declan had cried in the car.

She hadn’t known.  About Lucy’s deal with her stepdad.  That Mr. Bader’s actions had weighed on Lucy that much.  That Lucy had been that on the edge, that frustrated.

That Verona could be so used to this weirdness with dining room chairs rooted to the floor and a grown man sobbing that she wasn’t freaking out or losing it.  Lucy had undersold it, kind of.

Or things had gotten a bit worse since the last time Lucy had seen it.

Avery had never really been to many friends’ houses. Olivia had lived the next town over, and except for one brief occasion when they’d been on their way to the pool, had mostly gone over there to do activities, then driven home.  She’d been over to some houses of other homeschooled kids, but the only times she’d hung out in the other kids’ rooms was when she’d been really young, and at that age, like with Kerry, a person’s room or a portion of their room was less a mark of them as a person and more a place to store toys.

Avery looked through some of the scattered notes.  It looked like Verona scribbled notes down in one book, then copied them over in a more organized fashion to another.

The mixture of the organized and the disorganized was something Avery could never get away with at her house.  Any organization like this bundle of neatly stacked paintings would get disturbed by her siblings, but at the same time, Sheridan or her parents would give her a hard time if she left clothes scattered on the floor like this.  Verona had some stuff piled up behind the door.  Towels and hand towels, socks, tees, underwear, and what might have been a smock, daubed in bits of ink or paint.

Three mugs sat on the desk, one apparently for water for the watercolor, one empty, and the other with a trace of tea in it.  Avery couldn’t imagine herself sitting at that desk and not accidentally drinking the watercolor.  Or constantly picking up the empty mug.

Mr. Hayward raised his voice.  Calling Verona’s name.

The door opened.

“Want to go?” Verona asked.

Avery nodded.

“Verona!” Mr. Hayward hollered.  He banged three times on the wall.

“What?” Verona asked, from her doorway.  Speaking down the length of hallway and into the dimly lit room at the other end.  She sounded impatient, and frankly, really unhappy, in a way Avery wasn’t used to.

“Turn off my light.  And take these dishes.”

“Let me get organized first,” Verona said.  She went to her desk, and began gathering the books, notecards, and the sheaf of papers, sorting them into her bag.

“Verona!”

Three thumps.

“Can you take my bag for me?  I’ll grab it downstairs.”

Avery nodded, picking up the striped canvas bag.  Lighter than it looked.

“What do you need?” Verona asked, as she stepped into the hallway.  “Calling me again?”

“My light and the dishes.”

“I heard you.”

“I wanted to make sure you heard.  You conveniently ‘forget’ sometimes.”

There was a pause, and some clinking.  The room at the end of the hall went nearly dark, lit only by the images on the big television that faced the bed.  Mr. Hayward was around the corner and out of sight.

Verona emerged, carrying three dinner plates, two mugs, two glasses, and various silverware.  She indicated the stairs with a movement of her head, pausing in her room only long enough to get the two mugs.

“Verona!” Mr. Hayward called out.  “Can I ask you about one last thing!?”

Verona shook her head, lips pressed together.  She slipped down the stairs without making a noise.  Avery did her best to follow suit.  At the kitchen, Verona sorted out the dishes, slotting them into the dishwasher.

There were three thumps from upstairs.

Verona ignored it, one finger going to her lips.  The dishes made next to no sound as she finished up.

She didn’t look scared about it.  She looked matter of fact.

“What if he comes downstairs?” Avery asked, quiet.

“I don’t think he will, not until he needs to use the bathroom or he gets hungry.”

“That-” Avery started, before stopping herself.

“What?” Verona asked.

Avery felt like she should be afraid of offending her friend, in questioning or challenging this, but Verona really didn’t seem to care much.  At most, there had been a fleeting look of upset as she’d escaped into her room.

“Lucy said something really similar about Paul, last night.  Like, that he wouldn’t tell the police, I don’t remember the exact wording.”

Verona nodded.

“I kind of understand if you know your dad, but I don’t think she’s seen that Paul guy for a while now.”

“Yeah, huh,” Verona murmured.  “Interesting.”

“Interesting?  That’s not how I’d put it.”

“I guess, um,” Verona grabbed her bag.  “We have our individual monsters, and they occupy so much of our thinking…”

Avery followed Verona, as Verona strode over to the front door, stepping into her shoes without lacing them up.

Verona waited until they were outside and the door was gently shut before finishing, “…We get a pretty good idea of how they tick.  We kind of have to.”

“I don’t have a monster like that,” Avery said.

Verona smiled, and it was a weird smile.  Rueful, or weird.

“What?” Avery asked.

“Man,” Verona said, her tone changing.  She pulled out her phone.  “Didn’t mean to leave this early.  I hope Lucy can make it.”

“Don’t ignore me,” Avery said.  “Say what you were thinking?”

Verona looked at her.

“Please?”

Verona nodded, a little too fast, not making eye contact, like she was thinking.

She was so good at lying, she could seamlessly pull off that thing where she’d said Avery hadn’t heard Verona’s dad.  But this stumped her?

“Can I hug you?” Verona asked.  “Would that be weird?”

“If you need a hug, that wouldn’t be weird at all.”

“I don’t,” Verona said.  She stepped closer, and wrapped her arms around Avery.  “I hope you never have to deal with that kind of thing.  I think you will, and it could be tonight, tomorrow, ten or twenty years from now, but I really hope you don’t.  That’d be nice.”

Avery floundered for a response.

Verona’s pocket vibrated against Avery’s side.  Verona pulled back.  “Lucy.”

She put the phone to her ear.

Disconcerted, Avery stepped back a bit.

“Yeah,” Verona said.  “The two trees.  Yeah.  See you there.”

She ended the call, then put the phone away.

Avery looked back toward the house, with the slightly uneven lawn, the garden that lined the front and part of the side of the house, bounded in with squared-off blocks of stone, but that didn’t have any plants at all, with a leaning garage, and no lights on from within the relatively dark interior.

Verona sidled up beside Avery, and looked at the house as well.  “If we’re quiet he should be asleep when we go back, and we can be up and doing something before he’s awake.  Sorry.  I thought that since he came home and went straight to his room to lie down, that he’d be out of our way.”

Avery wasn’t sure what to say.

“We oughta go near the Faerie cave to rendezvous with Lucy,” Verona said.  “You up for it?”

“Yeah,” Avery said.  “I mean, I gotta, right?  If I’m going to back you guys up?  We just need to be smarter about that.”

Verona smiled.  “Come on.”

It was a relief to get away from that house.  The walk over the bridge and down the rocky shore was a nice one.  There were more people out with their dogs, which were splashing in the water.  One seemed intent on getting a fish that was in the shallows.  Its owner was trying to stop it and get ahold of the leash.

What fun, doggo.  I hope you get your exercise.

“Where do you want to be in twenty years?” Verona asked.

“Hm?”

“What do you want your life to look like?  What kind of practitioner are you?  Do you have a job?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.  Ever since the first night where we saw the Hungry Choir, I’ve been feeling like I spent my whole life up until recently unable to see more than a few feet in front of my nose.  Then the Pam thing, it was like… I thought I was expanding my thinking, and it takes Lucy yelling at me for me to realize I’m still only seeing a few feet in front of my nose, and the Faerie used that against me.”

“I’ve been thinking about the Faerie,” Verona said.  “I think it’s more likely they used it for themselves.  They can’t do stuff against us.  They can and have to entertain themselves.  As a matter of instinct.”

‘There’s that word again, huh?” Avery asked.

“You didn’t really answer my question, by the way.”

“I don’t know,” Avery said.  “Don’t people spend most of their lives figuring that out?  My mom said she didn’t know what she was meant to do in life until it came to having kids.”

“Yeah,” Verona said.

“Why are you asking?”

“I’m still trying to figure some stuff out.”

“Is this the same sort of stuff you were saying you’d think about for Lucy?”

“Kinda,” Verona said.  “I see her.”

They stood near the two birch trees that met to form a kind of arch, partway down the rocky shore.  Water had once settled or ran along the base of the two trees, and had stained them.  More weather had stained the top, and the branches had grown entangled.

Lucy wore the same clothes she had during the school day.  A tight tee with the Mission Canada logo and loose fitting shorts, a sweatshirt tied around her waist.  She wore her hair in a low ponytail, and carried her bag over one shoulder.

The school day had been muted.  They hadn’t chatted much.  Lucy had wanted to leave Verona alone, Avery had wanted to be sensitive with Lucy and accepted the first signals that Lucy didn’t want to talk.  They’d recapped only briefly at lunchtime, helped by the fact that Verona had heard the Paul story before.  All she’d needed was an update on what had happened last night.

“Hey, friend,” Verona said.  Her hands were in the pockets of her denim shorts.  She wore a broad-striped tee that parted at the collar, with a button that was never supposed to be done up.  Avery didn’t know the fashion term.  Like a polo without a collar.

“Where are we at?” Lucy asked.

“I’ll be the backup you need,” Verona said.

Lucy nodded, smiled a bit.  “Thank you.”

“I spent a while thinking last night.  About the gifts we got.  I know we still need to get the last few from Guilherme and Maricica, and there’s a bunch left to collect from the Others as we do the last interviews, but I put some thought toward the Faerie ones in particular.”

Verona pulled her bag off one shoulder, got it around in front of her, and pulled out the sheaf of papers.

“I appreciate that,” Lucy said.  “We’ll have to go over it together, figure out if there’s anything to watch or or use, before we use the gifts.”

Verona nodded.  “I drew while I was doing my thinking.  Did you a picture.  You can put them on your wall near your bed, or beside your bed, along with a marker.  The diagrams on the back double as spell cards.  I wanted to make you something or give you something, but the complex diagrams eat power just by being there, and I think if we make too many of those, the locals might get antsy.  We’re leeching power from them for anything we’re not paying for with some other tricks.”

Lucy looked over the pile of papers, turning some over.

Avery could interpret the circles and diagrams.  That one, it had radiating, rotating fire, at a high intensity and high output.  On the other side, it was a cute octopus painting.

“You’ll want to be careful with that one,” Verona said.  “I kind of thought, you know, if the Hungry Choir showed up in your room again or whatever, you could blow a hole in the wall and run.  Maybe.  I let my imagination run wild, because it’s really all I’m good for.  I liked the idea of being your backup even when I’m not there, by having given you those.”

Lucy hugged the pages to her chest, eyes down.

“Sorry if it’s not your style,” Verona said.  “The art, I mean.”

“You’re my best friend.  Things by or about you are worth a place on my wall.”

“Can I hug you?” Verona asked.

“A hug?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what our friendship was and is and where I want it to go.  I remember we fought a bunch when we were kids and we’d both get into a game in very different ways, or the time we did sailing camp and you loved it and I hated it.  And we made up with hugs.  It feels like we’ve been drifting apart by fractions after every fight or, uh, I called them serious times to Avery, I think it was.  When life gets shitty.  After every one, we don’t feel quite as close as we did.”

“You think, uh, hugging like when we were kids is going to help that?” Lucy asked.

“Can’t hurt,” Verona said.  She swallowed.  “I don’t want to drift apart over the course of our lives.  So I’m going to try harder.  I promise.”

“Have to be careful with promises,” Avery said.

“Nah,” Verona said.  She looked off to the side, and her eyes turned purple.  “This one’s important to make and keep.  I have to make it something I keep in mind.”

Lucy hugged Verona.

Both of them seemed better and more at ease than they’d been when they stood two feet apart.

Lucy made a hand motion, and Avery joined the hug.

“I’ll be better too,” Avery pledged, her eyes shut.

She felt Lucy’s head move in a nod.

They broke the hugs.  Verona stuck her hands in her pockets, her bag still slung over one shoulder, dangling.

It was getting dark.  The sun was down.

“How did things go with your mom?” Verona asked.

“I told her about Paul.  Mostly.  She told me I could be super grounded or I could go talk to someone.  I chose to talk.  I don’t know how that’s going to go when I can’t lie, but…”

“Tricky,” Verona said.

“…There’s a chance the curse I set might get lifted pretty soon.  She’s going to reach out to Paul.  I think he might actually pick up and answer her, after yesterday.  I nailed the coward curse in three times, if he can overcome that and overcome his natural instincts, he’s free and clear.”

“Oh, aye?”

The three of them turned.

In the shadows by conifer trees with long needles, Alpeana crouched.

“Hey.  We came to see you,” Avery said.

“Telling me my night’s hard work is all for nothin’?” Alpeana asked.

“Night’s hard work?” Lucy asked.

“Aye, it’s like subcontractin’, innit?  Spirits and whosits haf got a bunch of minds to put to gradual change, dreams are a way to go about doin’ it.  Spent the better half of last night plantin’ subtle ideas in people’s heads, this guy he cannae be trusted, he’ll turn tail and run.  Ain’t it so weird he spent so long livin’ at home with his ma?  What’s goin’ on there?”

“Sticking him with a label?” Lucy asked.  “Nothing more?”

“Oh, aye, Lassie.  If you wanted more, you cannae be lyin’ in little ways all the time.  Makes it easy to shake, and they say a curse you can shake can go back to the sender, stronger than it was.  You’re lucky he’s not much of a shakin’ sort.”

“Goblins neglected to mention that,” Lucy said, her eyebrow raised.

“If ye be wantin’ thoughtful sorts, goblins aren’t the way to go, Lassie.  Most can’t see much further than the next bloody nose they can inflict.”

“What would happen, if it landed on me again?” Lucy asked. “Could I shake it by meeting the same terms?”

“Ownin’ up to your wrongs done and cowardices?” Alpeana asked, from the dark.  As the sunset waned and the shadows deepened, the mare emerged more and more.  “Aye.  You could shake it, then it might go back to him, dependin’.”

“On?”

“Karmatic balances and intent, innit?  I cannae say I know for sure.”

Lucy nodded.

“What are you thinking?” Verona asked.

“I’m thinking I’m okay with that.  If he can shake it, if it does land on me because he’s angry or because I did mess up, that’s fair, isn’t it?”

“I did some good work last night, so I’ll be hopin’ it sticks, if you don’t mind my sayin’.”

Avery smiled a bit.  “I don’t want anyone to suffer, though.”

“Sufferin’s the way of it, sometime.  What’s fur ye’ll go by ye.  Speakin’ of, as nice as it is to have a blether, I really should be seeing to my rounds.  We can talk and I can answer yer questions, but I gaunnae address some doin’s while we’re at it.”

“How bad is this going to be?” Avery asked.

“Well, since ye asked, I’ve got some easy, early ones lined up.  An auld codger, bitter and black-hearted.  I can tell ye, if anyone deserves a fitful sleep, it’s him.  Should be easy on the wee conscience, when he beat his pretty wife and weans, and there’s no court’ll convict him or punish him for it, but his own mind.  Sleeps early, wakes often.  I like to go by, make sure he’s handled early on, or I’ll sometimes miss my chance.”

“I’m not sure I like picking on a defenseless old man,” Avery said.  She felt uneasy.

“He won’t sleep easy, no matter what happens, Lassie.  But if we see to him, might be he’ll change his mind about things, or find it in him to make amends.”

“Might be we’re just twisting the knife, though, and nothing will come of it,” Avery said.

“Oh, aye.  Ye dinnae have to come, but I thought if ye would, it would be easy to do it this way.”

Avery folded her arms.

“Verona, Lassie.”

“Hm?” Verona made an inquisitive sound.  She looked like she’d stirred from a thought.

“Your da.  He’s due.  Fell asleep by his telly.  I can skip him, aye?  Doesn’t hurt much.”

“Oh,” Verona said.  “You don’t have to skip him.  If there’s a chance of growth, or him settling into a role he’s supposed to fill…”

“Verona!” Avery raised her voice, scolding.

“I don’t mind,” Verona said.  “Really.  Actually, I’d feel way better about going into my house than some strange old man’s place, seeing how you do what you do.”

“Aye, that’s one way of it.”

“Guilherme.  The children are here.”

“Take care not to get near me, pestilent thing.”

Avery’s heart hammered.  Something in her perspective had changed, and the fact she found herself reacting, her breathing short, had nothing to do with the woman’s near-nudity, nor Guilherme’s imposing size.

They approached from the cave, but they were only visible through the arch.  the view of the same path across the shore from the side of the arch didn’t reveal them.

Lucy put a hand on Avery’s shoulder.

“Gifts.  I do want to get these out of the way.  Lucy.  A gift that will be useful tonight,” Maricica said.  “My last one to give to you all.”

“Can you write it down?” Lucy asked.

“My dear, I can show you.  It is so much better to show than tell.”

“Please write it down.  We’ll review it.”

“Are you sure?” Maricica asked.  The smile that spread across her face was a bit sly.

And, Avery reminded herself, entirely false.  This face wasn’t hers.  She’d given Avery a glimpse of another face entirely.

When someone tells you something, listen, Avery thought.  Whether it’s a friend saying a teacher is a dick to them, or a Faerie telling you she’s delivering a trap to your hands.

Maybe even a teacher, saying she has to maintain boundaries.  Ugh.

Maricica may well have shown Avery what she was.  And by the expression she wore now, it was hard not to feel like they were playing into her hands.

But that was the inevitability, right?

Maricica withdrew a paper from within the folds of her wing, walking to one side as she wrote on it.  It freed Guilherme to approach without drawing too near to her.

“Avery,” Guilherme said.

“Can you write it down?”

“As you wish,” he said.  “John told me to keep it simple.  I will.”

“You said it was better?  You said hers would be a lesson, and you weren’t wrong.”

“Maricica would change you into someone you don’t recognize.  I would highlight the you that you want to be.  It’s subtler and more blunt at the same time.  You’ll want to be careful all the same.”

Avery frowned.

“A man with wealth will soon find himself surrounded by so-called friends, with no idea if they like him or his money.  So will the greatest swordsman in the world, who attracts people by way of celebrity.  Self-assuredness has its own draw.  People without it would seek to find it.”

“I feel like if I had that much self-assuredness, I’d be even less me than when I was Kell,” Avery said.  “I may have to think on this one and discuss it with my friends before I use it.”

“Good,” Guilherme said.

He handed Avery a slip of paper.

Alpeana was getting antsy.

Maricica returned, with her own paper.  She ducked as Guilherme swung an arm in her direction, and tittered.  There was no cave echo to mutate the sound.  She held out a folded paper to Lucy, but held onto it as Lucy gripped it.

“Become a bit of moonlight,” Maricica said.  “Or a bit of smoke, or a bit of flame.”

Lucy tugged the paper free of Maricica’s hand.

“There’s a deposit of glamour in there.  Be careful when unfolding it.”

Lucy nodded.

“You smell of goblins, and your lips taste like a curse,” Maricica told Lucy.  “Be careful.  Curses and lowly practices travel paths of least resistance, and the most common path of least resistance that draws lightning from the heavens, rain from the sky, and light from the sun is down.  Sink too far, and you may find it all tumbling down on your head.”

“Noted,” Lucy said.

“Can we get gang now?” Alpeana asked.  “I don’t want to be late.”

“Do you have a boss that yells at you?” Verona asked.

“Och, nae, no.  It’s only the whole uncountable cosmos and the immutable confabulation of everythin’ breathin’ down me neck, innit?  I’ve not been much late to the work and I’m not about to start now, am I?  When it’s tied into the very fabric of my bein’?”

“Really now?” Lucy asked.  “But you can pick and choose who you do?  Skip us or Verona’s dad?”

“She’s anxious,” Avery said, giving Lucy a nudge.  “And she’s cooperating, and she’s being nice enough to hear us out and give Verona’s dad a pass, if Verona wants, which I really think Verona should want.”

Verona sighed.

“Who first?” Alpeana asked.

“My dad, I guess.”

Avery frowned at Verona.

“Go easy on him?” Verona asked.

“Aye.  Can do.  One of ye take another by tha hand.  I can only tug ye along with usin’ my hands, unless ye want to take hold of this hair of mine.”

“Uhh,” Avery said.  The hair was very greasy and had a lot of stuff in it.  Alpeana was cute in her own weird way, but not so cute Avery wanted to hold her hair.  She took Lucy’s hand.

Alpeana’s hand was cool to the touch, and slippery without being wet, in a way that made Avery’s hairs stand on end.  Alpeana took Verona with the other hand, and then tugged.

Avery’s stomach was left by the shore, as they made the quick trip back to Verona’s house.

They were dropped onto the stairs.

“Son of a-” Lucy swore, as she slid down a few steps before getting her feet beneath her.

“Ye shut your wheesht,” Alpeana hissed.  “Ye’ll wake him.  Though I suppose if ye do, ye’re not as bad off as you might be in another situation.  ‘Da, I’m home’, no?”

“Yeah,” Verona murmured.

Alpeana scaled the wall to the ceiling, and traveled the length of the front hall.

“I don’t like this,” Avery said.  “Hurting your dad.”

“It’s a bad dream,” Verona said.  “I’ve asked people for help.  I’ve argued with him.  I’ve tried to do what he said he wanted.  I’ve ignored him, I’ve spent whole days at a time with him.”

“And maybe you’re just hitting a sad, messed up guy while he’s down?” Avery asked.

“Maybe,” Verona said.  “But if there’s a chance it changes him…”

Avery floundered, wanting to change Verona’s mind.

But she felt paralyzed in a very similar way to when she’d seen Lucy facing down Paul.  That had been so angry…

And this felt so sad.  Verona, who seemed so unflappable, so often, looked low.

“He’s your monster that you’ve been wrestling with, I guess.  But it feels wrong to me.”

“Come on,” Lucy said.

They crossed the hall.

Alpeana was on the ceiling.  Below her was a man that was maybe eighty pounds overweight, wearing an undershirt that stretched across his belly, the stubble grown in after a morning shave, his cheeks either greasy or moist from crying.  The plates Verona had taken hadn’t been all of them, or Mr. Hayward had gotten more and put them by the side of the bed.  There were some food wrappers stuffed in the drawer.

The television was on, and was the sole source of illumination in the room, very blue.

How bad does this have to get, before I say stop?  Avery asked.

Alpeana barfed blackness and drainstuff.  Her hair extended, reaching down, like it was liquid.

It buried Mr. Hayward’s face, extended into his open mouth.

Smothered him.

Verona shifted her footing, arms folded.

He twitched, turning his head, as if to escape it, then moved his hand, reaching up lazily, with no sense of what he was fighting against.

An arm, thin, feminine, and strong, reached out of the tide of black stuff and grabbed him by the wrist, pinning his arm down to the bed.

“Stop!”

Avery turned her head.

“I’m calling uncle.  I’m sorry, Alpy,” Verona said.  She looked agitated.  Her eyes were wet.  “Fuck.  Wimping out already.”

“This isn’t wimping out,” Lucy said.

Verona made a face.

The darkness receded, drawing back up to the figure on the ceiling.  Alpeana stared down at them with eyes that had no white to them.

“Costs me a wee bit of somethin’, reachin’ in.  If I’m not finishin’ the job I’m not getting me pay from the cosmic tide and bellow, aye?  I cannae be stoppin’ and startin’ all night.”

“Aye,” Verona said, affecting the accent unconsciously.  “Sorry.  I’ll make it up to you.”

“I hope so.  I like ye, lassies.  I’m try’nt to be fair to ye.”

“Yeah,” Verona said.

“Another night, ye think?”

“We wanted to interview you.  I have questions in my notebook.”

“How about ye get yer notebook out and figure out what yer going to ask, and I’m goin’ ta go make sure this auld codger sheds a tear of regret for the violence he did ta his sweet pretty wife and bairns?”

Avery frowned.

“It’s what I am, Lassie.  If ye want me to stop, ye might need to put a permanent end to me.”

“I don’t want to do that,” Avery said.

“Do you hurt them, in the dreams?” Verona asked, looking at her dad.

“Aye, but not with blood and death.  I’m best with sorrow sweet and drawn out long.  With ones like this one, and tha auld codger, I show them wha they missed in their shortsightedness, a wee taste of tha life they could have lived, and a long hard ride in tha sorrow of knowin’ it’s their own sorry fault.”

“And the little girl you mentioned?” Lucy asked.

“Aye, tha’s sweet and it’s sorrow in its own way.  Might leave a bairn more melancholy than they should be but it keeps tha wheel tickin’ and it puts her where tha cosmos needs her ta be.”

“Reconsidering?” Avery asked Verona.

“Why?” Verona asked, not taking her eyes off her dad.  “Are you?  He tries hard, and he does the basics of what a dad’s supposed to do, according to those guys from the government.  Feeds me, shelters me, makes sure I go to school.  Just… he’s broken and he won’t put himself back together.  I don’t think he’s where he’s supposed to be.”

“Then-” Lucy started.

Verona wasn’t done.  “But I don’t want him to hurt.  I don’t want to see him hurt.  He makes me more miserable than anyone and I feel exhausted and even a bit of dread when he comes in the door, but I love him.  I want to not live in his house, at least after I’m eighteen, and I’m not even sure I’ll come back to visit him when I’m gone, but… I love him.”

“I should be going, lassies.  Are ye comin’ or are ye goin’?”

Verona put out a hand.  Avery took Lucy’s hand and took Alpeana’s.

Another jump.  To a different end of town.  Alpeana placed them on grass.  Verona stumbled.  Lucy fell over.

“I’ll be a few minutes.  Make yerselves comfortable, aye?”

“Yeah,” Verona said.

Alpeana slipped beneath the door, the entirety of her body squishing down into the stuff like tangles of pubes and hair pulled from the drains, dyed black instead of red and brown.

Lucy pulled her notebooks from her bag.  Avery paced, getting her hat out of her bag and pulling it on, so they could at least break some of the connections.

The back door opened.  All three girls jumped.

But it was Alpeana.  She looked alarmed.

“What’s wrong?” Avery asked.

“Miss!” Alpeana called out.  “Miss!  Miss!”

Avery turned, then turned again.  Miss was in the doorway, her silhouette blocked in large part by the door.

“What is it?” Miss asked.

“Interference,” Alpeana said.  “Someone got here first.”

“Another Mare?” Avery asked.

“Och, no,” Alpeana said.  She looked agitated, crouching down.  “The echo I should’ve used to answer his dream.  Someone tore it apart for pieces, aye?  Took tha eyes.  They’re lookin’ in.”

“Someone, not something?” Miss asked, as she strode into the house. Alpeana followed.  The girls followed Alpeana.

“Aye, we’ve got a practitioner spyin’ on thin’s here.”

“These three girls are the only practitioners in Kennet, with the exceptions of the cases of Matthew, who cannot practice, and Edith, who isn’t human at her core, and they’re too preoccupied to do this.”

“You’re sure?” Lucy asked.

“Positive.”

“It’s an outsider, miss,” Alpeana said.

“Yes,” Miss said.

The girls entered the bedroom.  A man, face covered in blackness, was lying on a bed, shirtless and sweaty.

Beside him, flickering, was the ghost of the woman that had to be his wife.  Her eyes were missing, with only a slash of darkness in their place.

“Ye girls had best be goin’ home or comin’ with us,” Alpeana said.  “I’ll warn ye, though, we’ll be going to pass through some right wrong places if we’re going to track down these eyes, the fella or fillie who took ’em, and figure out why they’re here.”

Avery hesitated.

Believe them when they say stuff.  They say these places are ‘wrong’… then they’ll be pretty rough, right?

But going to these places was the reason I wanted to practice in the first place.  I wanted to explore worlds.

“All three of us or none of us,” Verona said, to Lucy.

“Why are you saying that to me?” Lucy asked.  “Are you thinking I’m going to back down?  No, we were going to visit these places anyway.  We have to.”

“Then that’s a yes?” Verona asked.  “Because I’m trying my best to be good.  I am.  Avery?”

“Yes,” Avery whispered.  “Let’s go.  Let’s figure this out.”